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It's a messy landing, but Mal doesn't waste any time. He presses his back against the sofa, his legs spread in an incredibly inviting position.
He pulls me onto his lap and pushes my dress to my waist.
I'm bottomless in Mal's lap.
And he's dragging his hand up my thigh.
His fingers skim my clit.
He brings his other hand to the back of my head and pulls me into another slow, deep kiss.
His fingers are calloused. Rough. Fuck, the friction of his touch—
I groan into his mouth.
I slide my tongue around his.
I need this. All of it. More of it. I need every ounce of his desire. Every ounce of the pleasure he can give me.
It's been too long.
Way too fucking long.
He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. His touch gets rougher. Harder. "You want me filling that sweet cunt?"
"Yes," I breathe.
He teases me with one finger. Fuck. I need him filling me. This is enough to drive me out of my fucking mind.
My eyelids flutter closed.
"Look at me, baby."
Mal's calling me baby.
And I'm supposed to look at him.
Breathing is about all I can manage.
Somehow, I force my eyelids apart.
"You look so fucking beautiful wrecked with need." He teases me again and again.
With one finger.
Then two.
I try to hold his gaze but it's too hard. My eyelids flutter closed. My hands tug at his hair. "Mal. Please."
"Please?" His voice is deep and commanding.
Please touch me. Please fuck me. Please make me believe I deserve all this pleasure. That this is really going to happen.
That it won't end because of a technical difficulty.
That it won't end with him bored, counting stray threads on the couch.
That someone could want me.
