He raises one eyebrow slowly. “Are you listening?”
“Absolutely not,” I say honestly. “I haven’t heard a single word you’ve said since you put this thing inside me and stopped touching me.”
Something wicked sparks in his eyes. His mouth curves. Then he presses his toes deliberately against the flared base again.
A strangled sound rips out of me. I slap a hand over my mouth too late.
“Please,” I manage, my voice rough. “Stop torturing me.”
His grin is sinful. He settles his foot more firmly between my legs, just resting there, like that isn’t the worst possible place forhim to be. The ball of his foot presses against my balls just firmly enough to cross the line between pressure and pain. A heavy breath hisses out of me.
“Brody. Please,” I groan. “I need you. I needed you before, but now I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”
It’s only a half-exaggeration.
We’ve fooled around this week, sure. Hands under blankets, sloppy kisses stolen in the dark of his old bedroom, making out on his childhood couch while the TV hummed in the background and we tried to pretend we weren’t both thinking about his mom walking in. But there’s only so much you can do in a tiny house with thin walls and people coming and going.
Christmas Day was the only chance we had to really be together. To have him inside me. It had been rushed and emotional, and over faster than either of us wanted. It was my fault, because apparently my body decided that feeling safe and loved is a kink now and gave up the ghost almost immediately.
Now I’m stretched and full and simmering, and he’s over there playing footsie like I’m not one tickle away from climbing across this tub and humping whatever limb I can reach like an animal in heat.
He nudges the plug again, and my patience snaps.
Fine.If he won’t stop being a sadistic tease, I’ll just have to redirect his attention.
I shift forward carefully, trying not to slosh too much water over the sides. My thighs are shaking. The movement makes the plug settle differently, and it feels weird. I have to pause and breathe through it, my fingers digging into the edge of the tub.
Brody’s eyes track every inch, his playful smirk softening into something hungrier.
I turn onto my knees between his feet and crawl up the slick porcelain, water lapping at my sides. When I reach him, I swing a leg over and sink down onto his lap, straddling him.
His hands fly to my hips automatically, steadying me.
“You good?” he asks, his voice suddenly serious.
“Define good,” I mutter, and lean in to kiss him.
The second our mouths meet, the tight coil in my chest loosens. He hums into it, low and pleased, letting me take my time. I kiss him like I’ve been wanting to all week. Slow and deep and possessive, licking into his mouth, tasting mint and lust and whatever bubble bath was sitting on the edge of the tub when I prepared the water.
His fingers flex on my hips as I rock forward, sliding my cock along the wet plane of his stomach. The angle pushes the plug just right, and I moan into his mouth, my entire body shivering.
“I could come like this,” I gasp against his lips. “But I want?—”
He cuts me off with a low noise, one hand roaming down to palm my ass, thumb brushing the stem of the toy. My vision whites out for a second.
“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, teasing. “Use your words.”
Right. Words. Those things.
“I want…” My throat works. His eyes are locked on mine, bright and intense, and it feels stupidly like I’m about to jump off a cliff. “I want you to come inside me.”
The change in him is immediate. It’s like I flipped a switch. His pupils blow wide, the playful edge dropping clean off his face.
“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice rough.
I nod, damp hair flopping over one eye. “Yes. I want it. I want your cum inside me. Now, please.”
He laughs once, breathless. Then he moves.
