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And at the same time, I’m glad that she hasn’t. I haven’t come without meaning to since I first discovered my own cock, but for the first time, I’m entirely unsure if I can endure Mila grinding on my lap.
As if she heard the thought, a wicked gleam flashes in her eyes, and she drops that last inch into my lap.
Fuck. Oh, fucking hell.
I can feel the heat of her pussy, even through her panties and the fabric of my trousers. She gasps, softly, when she feels me pressing against the juncture of her thighs, thick and as hard as an iron bar.
A look of victory flickers across her face.
“You don’t want me, hm?” She rolls her hips, grinding herself against my hard length. “You don’t want to fuck me. You don’t want to be inside of me, to feel how hot and wet and tight I am, sliding?—”
“Mila.” Her name comes out as a choked groan. “Stop it.”
“You’re lying to me.” Her hips roll again, a delicious friction against my clothed cock. The pain is exquisite and terrible, all at once. I can feel the heat of my pre-cum, sliding down my straining shaft, and even that sensation is almost enough to tip me over the edge. Only sheer force of will keep me from exploding as Mila grinds along the length of my erection, and I clench my teeth hard to keep from moaning.
“I never said that I don’t want to fuck you.” Right now, it’s all I want. I feel like I’m going mad with the urge to yank down my zipper, shove her panties aside, and thrust every inch of my cock into her. She’d bounce on me for a minute, at most, and I’d fill her full of my cum. I wouldn’t last. I couldn’t. She’s driven me to the edge of insanity.
“But not for money.” She rolls her eyes, her teeth grazing her full lower lip, and I catch something else in her face that I hadn’t seen before. A soft, glazed look of pleasure that makes me suck in a breath, my muscles tightening with the effort to stave off my desire. I won’t come from this, if I can help it—but I think she might.
Grinding on me is turning her on. If I reached between her thighs right now, I imagine I’d find her wet.
Soaking, even.
“Entering into an arrangement like that isn’t something I’m willing to do. I’ve explained that already.” I murmur the words through gritted teeth, trying to phrase each one carefully, not to misspeak. Mila rolls her hips against me again, this time staying in my lap, rubbing herself along my hard length almost as if she can’t bear to stop.
Almost as if she’s on the verge of coming.
“Don’t come, principessa,” I murmur softly, and a look of shock washes over her face, just for a moment. “That’s not part of this. You can’t come for me.”
Her teeth sink into her lip again, and I see the muscles in her arms tighten as she grips the back of the couch. “I don’t think—” she whispers, the words coming in soft pants as she rolls her hips. “I don’t think I can stop.”
Oh fucking god. I’ve never been so close to losing control of my orgasm as I am at that moment. Pre-cum pulses from my cock, dripping down my shaft, enough that for a moment, I almost think I have come. Hearing Mila whimper that she can’t stop herself, that she needs it so badly that she can’t, nearly undoes me.
I should push her off of my lap. Stop this. This is crossing a line—a dance I’ve paid for, and she’s about to come all over my lap. But I can’t make myself move.
God help me, I want to watch her come apart.
The music has faded into nothingness in the background. I hear nothing other than her soft whimpers, see nothing other than the light glinting off her skin, the way her head falls back, a bead of sweat on her throat as her hips roll helplessly down into mine. I want to lick it off, to run my tongue up the column of her throat, to feel her pulse flutter against it when she comes.
And then she falls apart atop me.
Mila bucks, her mouth opening on a silent wail of pleasure as her hips grind down hard, her pussy rubbing frantically along my cock as her head falls back. Her hair brushes against my thighs, and I feel my cock pulse, my orgasm a hair trigger away from exploding as Mila orgasms on my lap. Her teeth bite into her lip, her back arched, and I curl my hands into hard fists against the couch. The rule against touching has never been more important than right now; if I touch her, I will fuck her.
I won’t be able to stop. And fucking her here would be the worst sin of all, one I could never atone for.
She deserves better than that. A million times better.
“Lorenzo.” My name is a breathless gasp on her lips when she leans forward, her hips rising off of me. I don’t need to look down to know she’s made a mess of the front of my trousers. “Let me?—”
Her fingers tug down my zipper before I can stop her. My mouth makes the shape of her name, but her delicate hand is already slipping inside, wrapping around the bare, taut skin of my cock, and the sensation makes my head fall back against the couch.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her palm rubbing against the hot, straining length. “You’re so hard. Let me make you come. Please, Lorenzo.”
Hearing her beg to make me come makes my head spin. Her hand is wrapped around me, already stroking, her fingers brushing against the soft spot just beneath the tip. I’ve been close since the moment I saw her gyrating on stage, and now I’m an inch from coming, when I want to make it last. When I want to keep feeling the sweet pressure of her hand stroking me from root to tip, her thumb brushing over the damp head, every stroke so exquisitely perfect that I moan without meaning to.
I’ve never had a fucking hand job feel this good. It feels better than most sex I’ve had. And with it, with that perfect, blissful pleasure, is the sight of Mila hovering over me, beautiful and graceful, her full mouth parted as she strokes me, her panties soaked with her orgasm. The wet fabric molds to her flesh, letting me see the contours of her pussy.
I want to taste her. I want to feel her. I want to slide two fingers inside of her and make her come again, feel her clenching around my hand while she strokes me.
