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I stood above Marco, allowing him to explore my body with his eyes, but his gaze didn’t move from my vagina. It was so damn sexy to have a man look at me as if I was the last meal he’d ever eat.
If Marco could touch me, he would have.
So, I did it for him. I ran my finger over my slit, feeling the soft velvety folds curl around my finger.
A ghost of a whisper rolled off Marco’s tongue, and he licked his bottom lip.
I bent my knees, allowing him a closer look as I glided my finger inside myself. My insides closed around my probing digit like a clenched fist.
Holy wow! It felt soooo good.
I repeated my move. Sliding my finger over my clit and into my hot hole while this complete stranger watched was as intense as any sex could be.
I was riding a knife edge. . . so close to orgasm it nearly hurt.
But I wanted more. The Amaretto gave me an idea. I stepped over him and walked to the kitchen for a drink. It was still very early in the morning. Not that I cared.
As I worked night shift, this was essentially the end of the night for me.
I unscrewed the lid and sniffed the bottle. It was powerful and pungent, yet sweet. I poured a nip into the little blue ceramic cup beside the bottle. Yum. I shot the rest and a delicious warmth oozed down my throat to meet the inferno already burning in my loins.
My body ached. I was ready to finish this. I turned to Marco.
His cock was a thick, muscular rod surging up from his body, hard and proud.
He was ready, too.
His eyes were ablaze with the agonizing want of release.
I filled the little ceramic cup again and dropped to my knees at Marco’s side.
Careful not to spill any on the carpet, I poured the Amaretto into his mouth. He gulped it down and licked his lips. I undid the stockings from his wrist and guiding his hand down his body, I wrapped his fingers around his cock.
Marco’s eyes rolled, and a moan, deep and guttural, released from his throat.
I watched what he did, wondering if he was like my ex-boyfriend, Ryan, who glided his hand with exquisite precision, slowly exploring the glorious length of his shaft, or if he would be like Liam Hammond, the English groomsman I’d met three weeks ago, who pumped his cock so hard I was certain it would be blue with bruises the next day.
Marco alternated, slow once or twice, then fast, until he hissed and his entire body tensed, forcing down an eruption. Then he cupped his swollen balls and started over again.
I stood above him and showed him all there was to see of me.
When I slipped my finger inside my pulsating slit, I sensed rather than saw Marco pumping his cock as if there was no tomorrow.
This triggered my landslide of greed.
I wanted it. I needed it. I was more than ready.
But Marco wasn’t the man I wanted to lose my casual sex virginity to.
Today, I will wait.
Tomorrow, though. . .
My knees threatened to buckle as I bent them so I could bury my fingers deep inside my pussy. I pulled them out and pushed them in again with agonizing, exquisite slowness. I did it again. And again. I rubbed my fingers against my clit as I curled them in and out.
Harder. Faster.
My own hand matched the ferocious pumping of Marco’s, and the orgasm that flowed from my body was long and sweet.
