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So here I am, making out with Elias O’Shea, half in love with him already while I sit on his lap in this cozy, private little haven. My legs are spread and my wet, softening pussy is pressed up against the gigantic ridge inside his jeans. My only barrier between us is a very wet, very almost-non-existent G-string.
Girl, you’re breaking Rule Number One! You hardly know him! You have no idea what you’re even doing! Are your forgetting you’ve never even kissed anyone?
The thing is, as Elias O’Shea kisses me hotly and almost worshipfully, gripping me with those strong fingers, I feel like I do know what to do. I know how to touch my lips to his, like this, and suck gently on his tongue until he groans.
It’s wildly intimate. His free hand slides up my bare thigh, under the hem of my skirt. He palms my ass, growling as he feels bare skin, pulling me harder against his—freaking huge—hardness. I moan into his mouth as my body instinctually angles toward him, grinding lightly.
We should stop. It’s too fast. It’s too much.
Clinging to my last shred of sanity, I break the kiss, practically panting.
Elias blinks at me gently. I can literally see the steely resolve behind his patience that tells me he’ll listen to my hesitations but he’ll also break through them, with alpha male praise and glittering promises. He licks my top lip. “You like me, little angel.” Like he’s reminding me. “Kiss me again. As slow and sweet as you want.”
I like the way he says that. It makes it sound manageable. It makes me want to do it.
So I do. I lightly hold his face in my hands and I kiss him slowly. Softly. He tastes better than anything ever has.
The kiss turns greedier. Slippery and hot. There’s a barely-controlled hunger in him as he grips me.
I don’t know if it’s the sheer size of him, the hardness of that huge, hard ridge inside his pants that I’m sitting directly on top of, the adrenaline pumping through my veins or the wild curl of pleasure that’s starting to build where I’m pressed up against him, but every rational thought disappears.
I don’t care how off-limits he is.
He’s hot as fuck.
I want him.
He thrusts against me as he presses me more strongly against him. All I can do is hold on to him and take it. I moan again.
I swear I didn’t think this would happen when I let him in here. I thought we might talk for a while, then he’d go home or over to his studio and we’d resist because it’s what we’re supposed to do.
But now he’s nipping at my mouth, licking into me, feeding me his lusty flavor as he kneads my ass against his hardness in a measured, deliberate rhythm. I’m melting into a puddle of pure need.
My legs fall open a little wider as I squirm against him.
“I don’t know how to do this small, baby girl. Do you know how fucking gorgeous you are?”
Baby girl.
Are these lines he’s feeding me?
Do I care?
It’s hard to worry about it either way when a deep, low wave of excruciating pleasure is building exponentially with each press of his hands and his body, threatening to tip me over into some parallel universe that’s so full of bliss it’s going to change my life.
“I’m breaking every rule, angel, because I fucking need you.”
My breasts are practically spilling out of my top from our hot, grinding exertion. All I’m wearing under it is a stretchy lace bralette. “I want to see you. I want to suck on you and make you come so hard you see stars. Do you want me?”
I gasp, and he takes this as a yes. It’s more than a yes. It’s a I’ll-die-if-you-don’t. Maybe there’s something chemical between us, because my craving for him is stronger than anything rational. Elias’s fingers pull the neckline down, so my stretchy top frames my breasts, lifting them and squeezing them lightly together.
Holy shit.
I’m reminded then that Elias is much older than me and far more worldly than I am. He’s a big, rough superstar who, as successful as he is, has a rebellious side to him. Maybe it’s one he hasn’t had a lot of opportunity to explore, but I can feel it now.
“Look at you,” he groans. “You’re a fucking goddess. I need to taste you now, my gorgeous girl. Are you ready for me?”
It seems strange to me that I’m already so addicted to him. If he doesn’t touch me and feed more of his effect into my quivering, half-naked body, I’ll go mad.
