“I mean, not unless you bend over. Quite frankly, I don’t want you bending over for anyone other than me or Lauren anyway.”
He clicks his tongue with an eyeroll directed at me. “Possessive much?”
I chuckle. “You know Lauren would absolutely flip if I said something like that regarding her. She definitely doesn’t jive with the whole ‘mine’ thing. You, on the other hand...” I trail off.
He grins at me. “Love the hell out of it.”
“Just as much as you secretively like being called a 'good boy.'”
He presses his lips together, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind them.
“You want to be my good boy right now, don’t you?”
He looks around the dressing room. “In here? In a space that makes a phone booth feel like a penthouse?
“We both fit on the bench, when you were on top of my lap, did we not?” I arch a brow up at him.
He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, sucking in a breath. Heactslike he doesn’t want this, like what I’m proposing is way too risky. The very noticeable bulge in the dress speaks volumes otherwise, however…
“Sugar, come here and give your man a little lap-dance, won’t you?” I ask, licking my lips.
“You’re ballsy.” He points a finger at me. “You’re real, real ballsy.”
“Turned all the way the fuck on too.” I stand up, yank my billfold from my back pocket, and tug out a packet of lube.
“My god,” he huffs with a chuckle, “do you and Lauren have to always be prepared foranything?”
“I don’t see why it hurts.” I shrug, feigning arrogance.
He clears his throat, tugging his fingers through his curls. “We have to be quiet,” he finally rasps.
I point at my scar and bug out my eyes dramatically. “Done.”
“You know what I mean!” he balks in a semi-hushed hiss. “We can’t be allthumpingaround in here.”
“I suppose you want me to perform at a half-assed level too, so that you don’t end up whining on my cock like you always do.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’twhine,” he says petulantly.
I huff out a breath. “Just like you don’t snore…”
He glowers. “Do you want a lap dance or not? ‘Cuz I don’t have to sit on your dick if you’re going to be one.”
I smirk, observing the way I just reverse psychology-ed his ass into getting him out of his wary indecision over getting fucked in a department store dressing room. “I’ll behave,” I promise him.
He huffs, facing away and peeling the skirt up over his ass. Ah, so that’s why he had no pantylines—he’s wearing a thong. I reach over and hook my finger under the waistband, tugging them down. He peers over his shoulder at me, biting his lip.
“Did you already rip the price tag off?” I ask him.
“What, the underwear? No, the thong is my own. Lo got mad at me once about wearing hers, so I have a whole bunch of them.”
I run my palms up the backs of his thighs, giving his cheeks a firm squeeze when I get to them. I massage them a bit before spreading them apart and spitting directly onto his hole. I watch as it puckers when he moans quietly. Such a phenomenal ass, every bit of it.
I soak my fingers until they're so wet they’re sloppy and make quick work of trying to prep him. He’s practically fucking himself on three of my fingers by the time he signs to me that he’s ready. I stand up so I can yank my pants and briefs down, and then I tear into the packet of lube.
I coat myself in it, and then smear the leftovers down his crease, fingering some in just beyond his tight ring of muscle. Then, I wrap my arms around his thighs and tug him back into me, urging him tosit on my lap. Holding his hips, I guide him down until he’s hovering right above my straining cock.
“I’m not messing around by taking this slow, baby,” he whispers, and that’s all the warning I get before he sinks down onto me in one hot, slick glide.
