“Hugged.” She throws a leg over my lap, resting her chest against mine.
With one arm around her waist, I tangle the other in her hair and comb through the strands with my fingers. After a few minutes, she relaxes into me like I knew she would.
“Thank you.” The words are whispered into my neck. Shefollows up the sentiment with a kiss to the edge of my beard. Her next kiss is in the same place, but this time, it lingers.
With a slow exhale, I drag my hands down her back. In response, she rocks into my hips and follows up the move with a lick to the skin below my ear. When she rocks a second time, I get the hint.
I thread a hand between us and untie her robe, and while she sucks and nips at my neck, I slide the silky fabric down her arms, caressing the soft, warm skin there. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh at her shoulder, eliciting a moan from her. Then she’s rocking her hips against my growing erection with more intensity.
“Hey, Millie?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you want to be helped, hugged… or fucked?”
31
Ezra
“IWANT TO BE FUCKED.”
Grasping Millie’s juicy thighs, I stand and flip her onto her back on the sofa. She yelps in surprise, but I stifle the sound by sealing my lips over hers. My tongue demands entrance, and she welcomes me in with enthusiasm, gripping the hair at my neck. She tugs hard, and I growl into her mouth. As I forge a trail down the delicate skin along her throat with my tongue, she circles her legs around my waist, pulling me flush against her, her hips rocking and my erection swelling against my zipper.
I let her indulge in the friction, cursing the barrier between us, and rub and thrust against her like a horny teenager.
Arching back, she cries, “Take these off.”
Oh, thank god.
Scrambling off her, I kick off my shoes, then I shed my pants.
“Those too.” She points to my boxer briefs.
I peel them down my legs without hesitation, then drop to my knees on the plush rug while tugging my shirt over my head. I push the coffee table back to give myself more space.
If I were an artist, I’d revel in the privilege of painting hernaked body, curating every ample detail of her lush curves and flushed skin. Instead, I use my fingers like a paintbrush, worshipping every inch of her delicious figure.
“Spread those legs for me, sweetheart,” I request, playing with the fine hair curtaining her clit.
With her right knee bent and flush against the back of the sofa, she slides her left foot to the floor. I caress her thigh, gentle at first, then greedily grabbing for purchase when the sparkle of her arousal grabs my attention. Dipping a fingertip into the tender place between her legs, I gather her wetness, then I treat her clit with the respect it deserves.
Moaning, she guides my fingers to her entrance. “Again.”
I oblige again and again until her perfect pussy is glistening.
I bend forward, perpendicular to her pussy, and when my tongue makes contact, she sighs.
“Fuck.” She brushes my hair out of my face and hums as she watches me work. The woman does love a good show.
“That’s it,” she praises. “You eat my pussy so good.”
I slide my index and middle fingers into her channel and rest my pinkie at her ass, then tip my head, silently asking for permission.
When she nods and angles her hips up, I spit at her entrance and slide my pinkie inside her tight hole. Two fingers in her pussy, one in her ass, and my mouth on her clit:the sex trifecta.
“More,” she encourages, bucking against my mouth and writhing, her tits bouncing with every thrust.
“Make a mess, Millie,” I order, pumping my fingers with so much ferocity her head is nearly hanging off the arm of the sofa.
