Two pieces.
One.
“Done!” I practically shout, jumping to my feet.
Cole sits up, holding her hand out to stop me from moving toward her. The whine I let out would be embarrassing if Iwasn’t so fucking hard just thinking about how much control she has over me.
“Shirt off,” she demands. My Bardot Brothers Coffee Co. T-shirt is immediately on the floor. She smirks, enjoying how eager I am. “Now crawl.”
I’m on all fours before she finishes her sentence. The area rug bites into my palms as I slowly crawl toward Colette Russell. Her bottom lip comes between her teeth as she watches, hand returning to her pussy to slowly circle.
A piece of hair flops down in front of my face, and she leans forward to push it back. Her hand tangles, pulling just slightly as she tips my head up. “You were a good boy following directions. Now you get to make me come.”
Nodding my head as much as I can, I beg. “Please, Cole. Please let me.”
With one more light tug, she lets go, allowing me to rise onto my knees. My hands slide up her bare legs, squeezing incrementally as I go. When I reach the spot where her hips meet her thighs, I press my thumb into that crease, slipping under her underwear toward her clit.
She arches back, anticipation painted over every part of her body. But before I put my finger where she wants it, I hook her panties and pull them off so I can have a full view of her perfect cunt.
I contemplate taking my glasses off, reaching up to adjust them, but Cole’s breathy, “Leave them on,” has me stopping in my tracks.
“I will only wear glasses from now on if that’s what you like, Colette.”
“It’s what I like,” she moans, pushing her chest toward me.
One of my hands moves under her shirt while the other begins firm circles around her clit. “I’d like to use my mouth now, if you’re okay with that.”
“I—” She cuts off with a moan. “I’m okay with that.”
Leaning toward her, I replace my fingers with my tongue, doing my best to keep up the pace I’d set. She tastes exquisite, and now it’s my turn to moan. I lightly tweak her nipple before circling her areola several times, mimicking the movement on her clit. She bows back, mouth popping open in ecstasy as her thighs slam around my face, knocking my glasses askew.
“Fuck,” she cries. Her body is shaking as she rides the waves of her orgasm. Slowly, I press one finger, and then two into her center, hooking them to increase her pleasure. “Why—” She gasps. “Why are you so good at this?”
“Research,” I reply between strokes of my tongue. I want her to keep coming. I want to make her come again and again for the rest of my life.
“Research?” She laughs. “You did research on how to have sex?”
She’s slowly coming down now, her chest still heaving, her legs lazily draped over my shoulders. I run my hands through my hair with a shrug. “I looked up some tips on sexual pleasure when your partner is autistic.”
When she just stares at me, I continue, “Everyone is different, obviously. And if there’s anything you like or don’t like, please tell me. But firm touch and predictability seemed to be a common theme.”
“You did research on how to be a better partner to someone with autism… for me.”
“Yeah, Colette. For you. And for me,” I joke. “I would very much like to keep having sex with you so I had to make sure it was enjoyable.”
A beat passes and I’m worried I royally fucked up. And then she springs forward, pinning me to the ground, her legs on either side of my hips.
“Stop being nice to me,” she says before kissing me senseless.
I don’t know how to tell her that if she wants me to stop, she can’t keep kissing me like this.
Ben Bardot has got to stop being nice to me.
I tell him as much right before I kiss him. I’m pretty sure he mutters “no” but I’m choosing to ignore that. Because I’m not done with him tonight.
He’s laid back against the floor, hands pinned above his head. Ben is much larger than I am and could obviously change our position at any time. But he doesn’t. He continues to allow me to control the situation, even as my emotions are secretly unraveling with each passing moment.
Grinding down, I enjoy the press of his thick cock through his jeans. Relish that I’m making a mess of them as my bare pussy gyrates. The mess he’s making of me is internal, but the mess I’m going to make of him? I want visual evidence.
