Fair is fair.
I hook a finger in the waistband of my underwear, and he swallows hard as I drag them down my thighs and over my knees before stepping out. When I’m free of them, I hike up my skirt around my hips and spread my legs as wide as the corners of the armchair will allow.
Elliot’s body tenses at the sight.
“Fuuuuck.”
“Still not a fan?” I ask, watching as his eyes gloss over and his gaze fixes between my thighs.
“Baby, I don’t care what you do down there. As long as I get to see her.”
He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief, and I slide my fingers through my wet flesh just to see his reaction.
With a rumbling growl, he utters another curse, this time, slipping further down in his seat and spreading his legs a little wider. His wrist pumps, slow and methodical, and I watch unabashedly.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him like this. Far from it, actually. But it’s my favorite snack, never gets old.
Together, we drive ourselves to the edge, but not over. Not yet.
“Do you remember when we first did this?” Elliot asks, drawing my attention up to his face. “When I first fed you?”
My heart jumps as the memory hits me, and a hot flush sweeps over my body.
“It’s not exactly easy to forget,” I say, cheeks warm.
He grins, and his head lolls back against the chair.
“I thought I’d died and gone to heaven,” he says. “I’d never tasted anyone so sweet in my life. Still haven’t.”
At some point in his reminiscing, he returns to stroking himself, and he gestures with his chin for me to do the same, groaning the moment my fingers find my clit.
“I always thought of you after that,” he confesses quietly.
He doesn’t say when he thinks of me, but he doesn’t have to. I already know, because I think of him too.
I think of his hands.
His tongue.
His teeth.
The sound he makes when he comes.
No matter how I try, each time I touch myself, I imagine Elliot. Just as he is now, stroking himself to the thought of me.
“Always?” I ask, that word standing out among the rest.
His eyes have slid shut, and he breathes a heavy sigh as he nods and strokes himself a little harder.
“Every time,” he says.
Pre-cum eeks out over his fingers, desperate to be free, and he works it over his head, using it to lubricate himself.
A passing thought occurs to me as I see his dick glistening.
I want to know what he feels like between my legs.
I’ve considered many times how it would feel.
