Probably over her shoulder, which would be fucking hot, but it would take me out of it when I saw her eyes. It’s too painful, and I don’t want to feel it more than I already do.
Easing into her, I hiss as her tight little pussy squeezes me. I’m pretty sure it’s the best I’ve had in a long time. No offense to Queenie. It’s also nice to have someone who’s wet and ready for me without needing lube.
It’s less of a transaction this way.
She moans as I slowly thrust, and it makes me smile. So fucking sexy.
“Yellow Crayon, you feel so damn good.”
“You don’t feel too bad yourself,” she says and presses her body back to meet mine.
I want to go faster. Harder. Give her everything I did last night. “Can I give more?”
Last night, she begged me. I’ve never had that before, and it was honestly the most turned on I’ve felt in years. But tonight, she’s not begging.
“Yes,” she whispers, her back arching.
I slide my hand up her back underneath her shirt and along her spine, smirking as she moans and arches even more. Soft, warm skin. If I was different, I’d love to hold her in my arms. Take her from behind as we lay in bed, her head turning back to kiss me. Maybe even have the lights on to watch everything we do.
Moving to grip her hips, I hold on tightly and quicken my pace. She moans and gasps, telling me just how good it feels.How she clenched me when she came last night still plays in my mind, and I want to feel it again.
But it doesn’t come. And I’m having a hard time holding out. I reach to the front to rub her clit. Furiously. I need her to come.
“Come on, Yellow Crayon,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
She moans before crying out like she did last night. Except her pussy doesn’t spasm. Warm and wet, but there are no muscle contractions. Pulsing. Squeezing.
I pull out just in time to come on her bare ass, and I realize I should have brought my sweatpants to clean her up with. It’s the least I could do, and now I’m standing here like a spent idiot.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Phoebe moves and grabs something from the floor to clean herself up with. “Great,” she says, but there’s a dullness to her tone.
Okay, now I’m confused. Last night, she was into this. Hell, when I walked in here, she was ready. So why would she fake it?
“Um, I—”
“Don’t cuddle. I remember.”
There’s that tone again. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer. It’ll stop this from happening again.
Maybe she’s just having an off night. It happens. I can understand that.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Tucker.”
My cock sticks to my thigh as I walk back into the hallway, and I shut the door behind me. No, this is more than just an off night. There’s something else bothering her.
I open the door again and lean against the frame. “Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.”
Is she lying? Would she have a reason to? “Are you sure?”
