“Entire bottle of lube,” I sigh. “Two, if you insist.”
The hunger I have for this man consumes me, more and more with each breath.
But I won’t rush.
This is something I’ve fantasised about for weeks.
Years, if I’m honest.
Unzipping a suitcase, Porter tosses me a squeezy bottle.
Then a second one.
“Oh I was kidding. You actually brought two?”
“Hell yes, I did. Two weeks alone in this big empty house? You know my hand likes to play. Wouldn't be surprised if you've heard me through the wall at home.”
“I might have.”
I absolutely have.
The sound of his orgasms make me feral.
“Might have joined in, too,” I add playfully.
And for the record, I have.
“Come find me next time,” he scolds. “You're the reason I get hard in the first place.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I smile. “But how could I possibly help?”
He lays down on the bed.
I close the door, out of habit rather than necessity.
“I can think of many ways,” Porter says breathlessly.
“Hmm… best if I keep my pants on,” I flirt. “I'd only make things worse.”
“Make it worse,” Porter demands. “I want you so much it kills me.”
“How much?”
“Get over here before I burst into flames.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
Kneeling on the mattress, I warm him up a little with my mouth.
And this time feels different.
This time things begin to shift.
A thirst for more.
An unquenchable, overpowering need for him.
Just the tip,I remind myself.Just the tip.
