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She tenses, gasping when my finger slips into her folds, her body clinging to the intruder as I slide deeper inside her, curling my finger to find her tender spot.
Her mouth drops open as I stroke her, using my workaholic tendencies for good. Because right now, Tiffany Young is my work, my devotion, my obsession. I give her everything, my finger thrusting in, stroking her spot, and then withdrawing to thrust in again. Over and over. When she’s lifting her hips for more, I insert a second finger, finally bringing my thumb to her swollen, needy clit. I kiss her hard, slamming my tongue into her mouth to taste the breath from her lungs and swallowing the sounds when she calls out again.
“You’re mine, Tiffany,” I whisper in her ear. I finger fuck her hard and deep, my thumb speeding up and my fingers curling with every stroke to hit that perfect spot inside her. Despite my punishing pace, my words are even and measured so she hears every one.
“Feel how puffy your lips are from my kisses.”
“Feel the sensitive sting of your nipples where I’ve sucked them so much they stand up with the barest breath.” I blow a soft breeze across one to prove my point, relishing the way it stiffens instantly.
“Feel my fingers filling you as you cover me with your wetness. Feel me hitting that secret spot deep inside you that drives you to the edge of sanity. Feel the sharp pleasure running from your clit out to your whole body.”
Her hands are grabbing for purchase at anything they can find—the sheets, my shoulders, her own breasts.
“Do you feel it, Tiffany? Tell me you feel it.” I’m as desperate as she is, maybe even more so. My cock is rock hard and leaking in my slacks, and I might come just from watching her get closer and closer to ecstasy.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
I feel her climax before she makes a noise, her pussy tightening around my two fingers like a vise for a split second before her hips jerk and her stomach turns to steel. I kiss her open mouth, savoring her moans, though she’s so far gone in pleasure, she can’t even kiss me back.
Her hands cling to my shirt, wrinkling the once-smooth fabric in her grip. She holds me tightly, pulling me in as if I’d ever leave her in this moment. I press into her, giving her some of my weight so she feels secure and knows I’m here. Without words, I let her know she can fall apart for me because I’ll always be here to gather her up again.
Always.
She sags back, blinking away the aftermath of her orgasm, and the smile she gives me is angelic. “I love you.”
Her eyes are clear and bright when she focuses on me, and any weirdness from tonight has been obliterated. “I love you, too. Now turn over because I’m claiming that pussy with my cock too.”
She squeals, flipping over immediately and lifting her hips to give me access. “Yes, sir!” I can hear her smile even as she presses a cheek to the bed.
I groan at the sight, having to squeeze my primed cock to stave off the instantly on-edge climax. “I love you,” I say again.
Chapter 27
Tiffany
Daniel and Elle are going to lunch together today. They invited me, but they’re going to Frankie’s and that’s their special place. I haven’t told Elle that Daniel took me there once, and honestly, I probably won’t.
I don’t know that she’d care, but it was an unusual occurrence for Daniel and I won’t risk sullying their traditions that way.
Plus, giving them some time together leaves me free to get one of the many other things marked off my to-do list. Blowing off a night of work with Harper to go sing karaoke, while fun and memorable, has put me more behind the eight ball, and I’m not the kind to let it go, no matter what I told Harper.
Not that I’m making any progress on anything of substance. My brain might as well be stuffed full of cotton balls and landmines, flip-flopping between ‘what the fuck’ worries, explosive freak-outs about imaginary scenarios, and fantasies about tiny baby toes and fingers. Then I close my eyes for a second, and those fantasies turn into day terrors of tiny baby fingers growing out of nostrils and toes where a bellybutton should be.
Apparently, my brain’s decided that what I need is a good, strong dose of twisted terror to go with all the rest of my shit. Because really, how does a toe know where to grow? What magic is that? And can it go wrong? Exactly how wrong?
Meanwhile, I stare at the spreadsheet on my screen, the numbers and letters blurring into oblivion.
Oh, shit, and now I’m crying again.
Luckily, my door is closed so I can fall apart in peace. The last thing I want is for Megan and Stephanie to worry about me or the rumor mill to start rolling full-steam ahead before I’ve told Daniel about Mini-Me.
