It’s the perfect loophole. I’m metaphorically patting myself on the back for having come up with it.
Cupping the long, slightly curved vibe in my left hand, I continue. “How about this? You can look, but you can’t touch me.”
Cameron, hair still wet from his shower, drags a hand down his face. A faint “fuck” falls from his lips.
I quirk an eyebrow, silently asking,Are you in?
Without a word, he closes the space between us, only stopping when his knees bump the side of the bed. He yanks the sheets, eager and impatient, like a kid with wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
“Spread your legs, gorgeous.”
He snags two pillows and settles them halfway down the bed, and without needing direction, I swivel somy upper body is propped against them. I plant my feet on the edge of the mattress and spread my legs. Then I tug on the hem of his T-shirt I’m still wearing, pulling the fabric up my abdomen until it rests just below my breasts.
I never answered when he asked why I was wearing his shirt. My first instinct was to lie and say because my clothes were already packed, but neither of us would have believed that. The truth is, I haven’t been able to shake thoughts of him. Our time in Greece has left a stain on my soul. So when I found myself sleeping in his bed, I swiped a shirt from his drawer and wore it like I had on the nights we were together in Greece.
“Let me see that pretty pussy.” He pulls me from my reflections.
His eyes are glued to my core, where I’m exposed and vulnerable. I never did put my underwear back on. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need lube,” he says. “You’re already fucking soaked.”
I swirl my favorite toy through my wetness and drag it up my slit. I’ve never pleasured myself with an audience before, but I’m instantly a fan. Putting on a show, I’m discovering, turns me on more than if I were solo.
I dip the vibrator into my entrance, then trail up to my clit,slo-o-o-wly,several times over. Cameron’s eyes are locked between my legs; mine are locked on his. When I finally turn on the device, he startles. A laugh bursts from my lips, making him scowl at me. But the laughter dies and is quickly replaced by a moan as the vibrations stimulate my clit.
With a curse, he grips the bulge in his sweatpants.
“I said you couldn’t touch,” I reprimand, when he rubs his length through the fabric.
He gulps. “You said I couldn’t touchyou.”
Touché.
I don’t argue. Watching him touch himself is only speeding along the momentum building inside me. Like live-action porn.With one elbow, I prop myself up for a better view. He takes my silence as permission, and when he drags his pants down his thighs and lets them drop to the floor, I fucking whimper.
He snickers. The man’s no idiot—he knows exactly how to get me going. Damn, I love how in tune he is to my needs and desires.
Fuck, I cannot be usinglovein reference to this man.
“Where’d you go?” he whispers.
See? He just knows.
Shaking my head, I focus on what’s in front of me. The way he strokes his length and swirls his precum at the tip with his thumb forces a whimper from me.
He huffs out a laugh in response, and I shoot him a glare. But my grudge doesn’t last long. Between the vibrations and the sight of this gorgeous man throwing his head back in ecstasy, I’m perched on the edge. Watching him jerk himself is torture. Why did I make the stupid no-touching rule?
“Let me see you slide it inside,” he rasps.
I obey, arching off the bed and finding a rhythm.
“Thatta girl,” he croons. “You like being filled up. You wish it was me fucking you right now, don’t you?”
My groan is confirmation enough.
“Eyes on me.”
When I force my attention to focus on him, he’s leaning over me with one hand planted by my side and the other gripped tightly at the head of his cock, like he’s fighting not to spill himself all over me. Still, he’s not touching me.
When I mutter, “I’m close,” he spits in his hand and coats his cock and matches my pace, stroke for stroke.
