‘The first time I fuck you tonight.’ I open my mouth to reply when his hot mouth melts my words. As it slides against mine, his knuckle begins to rub rhythmic circles over my panties, the pressure increasing until he’s worked the soft fabric to cling wetly to my clit.
‘Do I look like a one ride kind of man?’ My gaze follows his from the damp patch of my panties as he raises his head.
‘You look like you could go all night.’
‘Fuck, yeah,’ he growls, watching my face—watching his actions—slipping his hand into my panties’ lacy waistband.
I can’t hold back the sound of my pleasure as he slides his fingers backwards and forwards, gathering my wetness and rubbing it against the swollen nub. In fact, I think I might beg as a knuckle becomes two circling fingers, then two fingers that thrust.
‘Please, please, please.’ My breath is short and my voice is hoarse.Please let him still be hung like a horse.‘Oh God, please, please, please.’ It’s been so long.
I so badly want to come—crave it as I crave him. My hands grasp his shoulders as much for balance as it is to hold him closer, as the heel of his palm cups and pressures, paced in time with his thrusts. Arching away from the wall, I pull his mouth to mine, sucking on his bottom lip. Arching. Sucking. Finger fucking. So sublime.
My hands slide from his shoulders and I grasp his forearm, using my body to ride his hand. I’ve never been so forward, so demanding. Felt so reckless and powerful. So full of need.
My veins feel powered by liquid fire; the knot between my legs building and building, before bursting at its peak. And I’m all out of breath, coming so hard and so silently I think this must be what it feels like to implode. I’m conscious of my chest heaving between us—and that’s never happened before—and think I might actually be dissolving from pure pleasure. But I can’t be, because I can feel my body weighted against his arm; the arm I’ve clutched so hard, I think it might have left nail marks.
His body is motionless but when he speaks, his voice is so rich and soft and his sentiment so flattering, it washes away any potential awkwardness.
‘That one was for you. Happy birthday, Rose.’ He smiles down at me, sort of sweetly. ‘But I should warn you, the next one’s all mine. You’re a real looker and stunning when you come, but I want to be inside you when I make you do that again.’
My insides clench greedily at his words and by the way his smile shifts, I know he feels it, too.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ My voice is hoarse, like I haven’t used it in days. My eyes fall to his forearm where, sure enough, the half-moon impressions of my nails are visible against his skin. I purse my lips against the notion of apologising, pressing them harder at the sound of his fingers slipping wetly from between my legs. Is it shame? Embarrassment? Whatever it is, the thought dissipates the instant he paints my wetness against my own lips.
‘Taste yourself,’ he coaxes. As his grey eyes dare me, I curl my tongue against my top lip. ‘So, you’re a good girl,’ he says softly, lowering his head as his mouth finds mine again.
I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, the musky scent that he must taste, too.
Hells bells, I want him to.
I realise I’m still wearing his jacket as he pushes it from my shoulders, pulling my blouse from my skirt and making quick work of the tiny green buttons. And I just let him, torn between watching the actions of his long fingers, and the hair that’s partially obscuring his face.
‘Now bedroom,’ he growls, his forearm pushing away the hair before he grabs me by the waist to propel me further into the hall. I don’t have time to contemplate how ridiculous I must look, tights clinging to my thighs and my skirt rucked up, before his arm bands my waist and he hauls me against him, his front to my back.
‘On second thoughts...’ I squeal a little as his voice rumbles against my neck. ‘If you keep making those noises, titch, you won’t be going anywhere.’
‘What noises?’ I squeak as his large hands slides under my blouse. The feel of his fingers against my ribs is as distracting as his mouth at my ear. His soft lips envelope the shell just as his fingers find my nipples beneath my bra.
‘That noise.’ His words rumble against the sensitive skin beneath my ear. ‘Those little squeals you made as you came.’
‘I did not!’ It’s hard to sound indignant when you’re enjoying being touched, but titch? And my orgasm was almost silent, so I’m not sure—
‘Ohh!’ His fingers pinch my nipple and I squeal again.
‘Aye, like that.’ He chuckles darkly, his teeth pressing against my neck now. ‘Those little breathy noises you made as you came all over my hand.’
I’m not sure if this statement is dirty—or delicious—as he quickly turns me and I almost stumble against a large hall stand. In the dimly lit space, I can make out the piece looks like something you might see on an antique program, shabby and the glass mottled. I press one hand to the worn wood, its scars apparent beneath my fingertips, but as I brush my bangs from my face with the other, he catches it.
‘You look fine, darlin’.’ Raising my palm against the dark mirror, he covers it with his own as he starts kissing my neck again. ‘Real fine.’
I’ve no experience of dirty talk, but the things he whispers are thrilling; filthy worded compliments about my ass and tits. Husky promises of how he can’t wait to fill me. To fuck me, until the only thing holding me up is him.
Distantly, I can hear panting; soft and light. This time there’s no doubt where it’s coming from. Then, in a heartbeat, I sense his thumb pushing through the fabric of my hose, pulling and shredding the material until it falls like loose stockings down my legs. My heart rate spikes—from excitement? From fear? The former winning out as he places his hand behind my knee, lifting my leg.
Without thought, I move with him, my knee now resting against the ledge of the table as he grinds against me with a low groan. My hand still braced against the mirror, I move instinctively against him, rocking back into the hardness of his body. The hardness of his cock. How is it possible I’m still turned on after climaxing but a moment ago? He may not be a one-orgasm-wonder, but I am. I’m a one go girl before mumbling barely intelligible goodnights before passing out. Not that we’ve made it as far as a bed, which somehow heightens the experience.
Hungry anticipation tightens in the pit of my stomach. I need this so much that my insides pulse emptily, yearning for the thick slide of him between my legs.
