My muscles jump when his hand slides up and under my sweater, fingers whispering up my ribs before he cups my breast, thumb swiping over my nipple. A breath stutters from me, but he doesn’t let me go. He rolls his thumb over the hardened peak, teasing me, pulling me up to the top but never letting me break for air. My nails sink into his arm, body responding to every touch, the scratch of his short facial hair, the warmth of his skin and the hardness of his cock pushing into my lower abdomen.
Noah is intense. Everything about him is, it’s hard not to fall into his orbit. I’ve always gravitated toward him, like he’s the sun in my universe, and this is no different. He pulls away and I chase, seeking his lips, his kiss, but I snap out of it when his chuckle skates over my skin.
He pulls my sweater up and over my head, throwing it behind the couch, and then steps back, his thumb moving over his bottom lip as he devours me with his eyes.
At the back of my head, I know he shouldn’t be looking at me like that.
My lips part as he drags his finger over the other nipple and then moves to the waistband of my pants, tugging them down.
My first instinct is to cover myself; the second, however, a stronger, much needier part of me has me stepping forward to cup his hard length, squeezing it just enough in my fist.
Noah stumbles, “Fuck.” He groans. “I’ve been fucking hard all day, Sidney.”
“Why?” I breathe.
“Remembering how you tasted, how you moaned for me,” he groans as I stroke my hand up and down, the material of his pants in the way, but I can make it work.
“This isn’t part of the schedule,” My teeth sink into my bottom lip, watching the pleasure pass over his face. His jaw slackens as I continue to stroke him, working him up the exact same way he just did to me. I am drenched. I can feel it on my inner thighs, my pussy throbbing with the need to be filled by him.
There’s something so incredibly sexy about watching him take pleasure, how his strong throat works on a swallow, how he trembles, just a little, his eyes hooded. And the idea of him filling me up, stretching me open for him to fit, of his come leaking out of me…
“Fuck,” He groans, “the schedule.”
Red flag.
I tighten my fingers, “I worked hard on that.” I tease him. And I had, I’d gone through all my dates and then applied them going forward, searching up all thephases of my cycle, picking out the best dates that would work for us. I, of course, understand that these kinds of things can’t be one hundred percent correct or predicted, but it certainly helps to have the estimates.
“It’s practice,” his excuse is a groan that rumbles from him, head tipping back, “Fuck Sidney, that feels good.”
I grin with pride, “You’re so hard, Noah. Are you going to say please?”
He snaps his eyes to my face, “I don’t beg.” He grinds out, “But you will.”
My hand drops away from him and I’m turned so suddenly, all I can manage is a squeak as he forces me onto my knees on the couch, my front pressing into the back cushions as his hand goes to the nape of my neck and he squeezes. He holds me there as he palms one of my ass cheeks, his hand dipping low to swipe between my legs.
I jerk under his touch, a breathy moan slipping from my lips.
One minute I was in control, the next I wasn’t, and I have yet to figure out if I’m mad about it.
“Drenched, Sidney,” he praises, “You’re so ready for me to fill up this pretty pussy, aren’t you?”
He slowly inserts a finger, my walls immediately clamping around it, feeding the burning need that has my body fucking singing.
“Answer me,” he thrusts harder.
“Yes,” I cry out.
“Are you going to say please?” His words are whispered right by my ear, “Beg me for my cock? Beg me to fill this tight little cunt with my come?”
I clamp my lips shut.
He tuts loudly and curls his fingers, brushing up against the most sensitive spot inside me. If there were a map designed for my body, Noah has already studied it, memorized it, and is using it. How does he know?
I press my hips back into his hand, silently asking for more, but he moves away from me, taking away that pressure.
“No, wait,” I cry out and attempt to turn, but the hand on my neck doesn’t allow it.
“What was in the schedule?” He muses behind me, the swish of material sounding as he shoves at his clothes with one hand, “Ah, that’s right.”
