To prove it to myself, I lean down and brush my lips over Nico's, feather-light. A whisper of a kiss that's more of a tease than anything else. I do it again, and again.
His hand slides up my side and teases the underside of my breast.
I shiver, body arching, a silent plea for more.
He cups my breast in his hand, his thumb circling my nipple, but not quite touching it.
Teasing.
Torturing.
Waiting.
For me to give in.
My breath hitches.
No.
My hips buck against his, and I start to move, a slow, sensual rhythm that has him gritting his teeth.
The friction is exquisite against the sensitive skin of my pussy, even through my shorts.
I want him to rip my shorts off and plunge into my needy pussy until I'm screaming for mercy.
Or more.
He leans upward and takes a nipple into his mouth.
My back arches, a cry escaping my lips as my hands find their way into his hair. My hips speed up, the rhythm becoming more erratic, more desperate.
He swirls his tongue around my nipple deliciously, then bites down.
I gasp and tense as a wave of pleasure washes over me.
I'm close. So damn close.
He slides one hand down my stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my shorts, and I have to stifle the urge to beg him for more.
I want him to thrust his fingers inside me. Instead, he teases me.
Light touches that have me squirming against him, hips arching, trying to get more friction, more pressure.
He rubs my clit in slow circles.
My movements become more frantic, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I arch my back, pressing my hips into his for maximum friction between my clit and his cock, even through our clothes.
A frustrated sob escapes my lips.
He presses his lips to my skin, and through the haze of my pleasure and frustration, I see a dark surge of pleasure.
He’s enjoying this. The bastard is enjoying this.
And the worst part of it all is that I can’t even blame him for doing anything wrong. He’s here, doing exactly what I’d expect any other man to do in bed.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
