“It must’ve hurt like a bitch to get it,” I commented as I moved my hand.
“Try a motherfucker.” He grinned, leaning back against the piano. A discordant little melody chimed out under his weight.
“Give me your hand,” I said.
He did, and I wrapped his fingers around his shaft.
“Now show me how you were getting yourself off on that tour bus, thinking about me.”
Milo’s hand tightened around his cock, right under mine, and he started stroking. The thick shaft pulsed in his grip, veins standing out under his tattooed fingers.
“Keep going,” I said as I got up and dashed to the foyer.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“I said keep going!” I shouted back as I picked up my bag and found my phone in it. It unlocked with a smallclick,and I swiped to open the camera app as I walked back toward Milo.
He cocked an eyebrow when he saw the phone, but his hand didn’t stop moving. The silver piercing caught the light every time he twisted his wrist.
I hit the record and got back between his thighs.
He reached for the phone without another word, but I batted his hand away. “No. This is for me.”
“That so?” he muttered, shifting on the bench, getting more comfortable. His abs flexed with every stroke, sweat gleaming in the cut lines of his hips.
“That so,” I said, angling the phone to catch everything
— the way his fist worked that gorgeous dick, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his grey eyes burned down at me.
The camera loved him. Fuck,Iloved him like this — raw, exposed, every filthy detail caught in 4K.
I leaned in closer, letting my breath ghost over the head of his cock as his hand kept working it.
“Show me how you did it on the bus,” I murmured, lips brushing the piercing. “When you’d watch me ride that dildo and imagine it was your cock splitting me open.”
His stroke faltered for a second, then sped up, fist flying faster. A guttural sound tore from his throat. “Every fucking night. I’d stroke it raw, thinking about your tight little throat taking me. Your pussy dripping down my balls…”
“Naughty boy,” I grinned.
Milo’s grey eyes were locked on me.
I turned on the selfie mode on the phone and wedged it between the keys of the piano, before I settled back down and pulled on the ribbon that held together the breast part of my dress. I wasn’t wearing a bra so the moment the lacing pulled apart — my breasts spilled out.
His eyes were locked on my chest now. Mine, however, was on that shiny bead of pre-cum gathering at the slit of his cock.I reached over to swipe it with my finger before bringing said finger to my nipple.
The pre-cum was warm, slick, and slightly sticky, coating my fingertip like liquid silk. I circled it slowly over the tight peak, spreading the glossy trail until my nipple gleamed. The cool AC air kissed the wet skin, making it pebble even harder, sending a sharp little jolt straight down to my clit.
Milo’s stroking faltered again. His chest heaved, the ink across his pecs shifting with every ragged breath.
I ran my nails up and down his thighs and watched that delicious V-cut flexing as his hips jerked up into his fist.
“What feels better, your hand or my pussy?” I asked him.
"That a trick question?"
I smirked, getting up and onto his lap, my knees on either side of him on the bench. I lifted the skirt of the dress and pulled my thong to the side. The phone was still recording from the piano, capturing me over his shoulder.
“Thought you were still sore,” he commented.
