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But when he talks to me like that…
My pussy throbs.
I swallow and try not to think about swallowing his cock. With my mouth, or my cunt, or—fuck, I’d even let him take my ass with a dick that gorgeous.
It’s like when someone tells you not to think about elephants—you immediately start to think about elephants. The heat building between my legs makes it hard to think straight—unless I’m thinking about how I want to launch
myself pussy-first straight at his dick.
I’m trying to remember what the fuck I came up here for to begin with, but as I take a step forward—a step that he matches—the only thing I can focus on is the elephant in the room.
He might be a dick, but he’s a dick I want to ride.
Desperately.
“You’re fucking noisy,” I say, briefly recalling my argument as I take another step forward.
On my way up here, I had this all planned out perfectly in my head. Every beat. Every scathing point.
Now, I’m just walking towards him, licking my lips and trying to piece it all together, when all I really want? For him to rip this sweater to shreds and fucking take me already.
He smirks in response. “I could be louder.”
“You’re a horny fucking bastard.”
“Damn right I am, sweetheart.”
“I bet you fuck any woman who throws herself at you.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you try it and find out?”
I stop, maybe a foot away from him. Maybe less.
“You’ve been keeping me up all night for years, asshole.”
I’m fucking shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from rage or lust, or if I just confused my brain so hard I’m having a gentle fucking seizure.
Apart from the shaking, though, I don’t even move.
I don’t trust myself to.
But 33D doesn’t seem to have any problem with closing the gap.
“You wanna know something, 32?”
He runs his thumb across my lower lip, turning my chin up at him, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
I just stare at him. If I have words, they’re not coming out right now.
“You’ve been keeping me up all night, too,” he says.
And that’s all there’s left to say.
He kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that’ll probably leave bruises on my lips come morning. I fucking want it to.
The next time he’s having rough, loud sex over my bed late at night, I want to be able to touch the tenderness on my lips and remember how he felt. But the bruises don’t end there.
As his tongue darts into my mouth, his hands claim my body next. His fingers curl around one wrist, around my throat. He claims my tongue with his while he captures my neck.
