Page 32 of My Girl to Take

My hands shake as I reach down, hooking my fingers into the lace and dragging it down my legs. I toss them aside, and he tracks the movement, then drags his gaze back up my body, lingering between my thighs where I’m already exposed, already glistening for him.

“Spread your legs.”

I do, my knees falling open, my face burning with embarrassment and arousal. He makes a rough sound and reaches down, stroking himself through his jeans, his eyes never leaving me.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Show me what you need, baby.”

I hesitate, my shyness warring with the need coiling in my belly. Then I slide my hand down, my fingers finding my clit, circling slowly. The sensation makes me gasp, my back arching off the bed, and he groans, watching me pleasure myself while he stands there fully clothed.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Look at you. So desperate. So needy for me.”

“Keep going.”

“Aren’t you—”

“No.” He doesn’t move. “I’m going to stand here and watch you until I decide otherwise. That’s the whole arrangement tonight.”

And it is the strangest, most unbearable relief I have ever felt in my life—because there is nothing to decide, nothing to manage, nothing anyone needs me to hold together. There is one instruction, and I can follow it.

I follow it.

He finally moves, stripping off his shirt, his sweatpants, his boxer briefs. Then, he’s naked, his cock thick and heavy against his stomach.

“You want this, baby?”

“Yes,” I choke out, my fingers moving faster, my hips bucking. “Please, yes, I need it, I need you—”

He climbs onto the bed, crawling over me, caging me in with his arms. He doesn’t take my dress off, just unzips and drags it down, exposing my breasts, my nipples hard and aching. He dips his head and sucks one into his mouth, hard, his teeth grazing. I cry out, my hand still between my legs, my whole body trembling.

“Don’t stop,” he says against my breast, his hand joining mine, his fingers rougher, more demanding. “I want to feel you come before I’m even inside you.”

“I c-can’t. It’s too much—”

“You can,” he insists, lifting his head to look at me, his eyes dark. “And you will.”

He kisses me then, deep and dirty, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, his fingers working me relentlessly. I can feel it building, the pressure coiling tight, my hips jerking against our combined hands. I’m making sounds I don’t recognize, desperate, broken, completely undone.

“Come,” he commands against my lips. “Now, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

I shatter, crying out his name, my body jerking, my hand falling away as pleasure crashes through me in violent waves. He keeps stroking me through it, drawing it out, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, anywhere he can reach.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s positioning himself, his cock pressing against my entrance, hot and hard and impossibly thick.

“Look at me,” he demands, and I do, my eyes glazed, my body still trembling. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I'm yours,” I whisper, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “Only yours.”

He thrusts in deep, one stroke, filling me completely, and we both groan, the sensation overwhelming, exactly what I needed. He stills for a moment, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “You feel so good.”

He starts moving, slow at first, then faster, his hips jerking against mine. The sight of him above me, his muscles taut, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that burns, pushes me higher again.

“Touch yourself,” he orders again, his voice strained. “I want to watch you.”

I reach down, my fingers finding my clit, still sensitive, still throbbing. The dual sensation of him filling me, stretching me. My own touch sends sparks shooting through my vision. I’m climbing again, fast, desperate, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he growls, his rhythm faltering. “Now. For me.”