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“Take off your shirt.”
Birdie never took orders. She gave them the middle finger. To his surprise, with her back to him, she crossed her arms in front of her, grabbed the hem, pulled the shirt over her head, and tossed it on the workbench in front of her.
“Now the bra.”
Another pause. “Can you unhook me?”
“No.” He wanted her to do it. See her struggle like he had for what seemed decades.
He watched her body inhale, and then slowly she bent one arm behind her back and unclasped her bra with ease. Both straps fell off her shoulders with a shrug, and then she tossed it next to her shirt.
Without him asking, she hooked her thumbs in her jean shorts, bent over and gifted him a visual he would replay over and over again, for years to come.
After kicking the shorts to the side, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back until she had no choice but to land on his lap, wearing nothing but a pair of white panties.
As if to restrain her, each of his legs wrapped around hers, spreading her open in the most lovely of vulnerable positions.
With her back to him, there was no eye-gazing or soft kisses. If she wanted him to give this to her, then fine. He’d do it his way and with the least amount of emotional connection possible. Some might call it robotic, but it would be anything but boring. As his rock-hard dick was deflating his sense of self-preservation.
He pulled her hair to the side and began to kiss and bite, up and down her neck, as his hands cupped each breast and simultaneously pinched and plucked at the protruding pink nubs.
She yelped with each pinch and his dick bounced under her in response.
Her skin was smooth, her body lush. His head was both spinning and focused on its mission.
He continued to flick and pluck, rub and squeeze, until she was gasping for air. Her hands grabbed on to his as if to say she couldn’t handle the overstimulation and he grabbed each wrist again and placed it on the armrests.
“Move your hands and I stop. Understood?”
She nodded her head, and he blinked at the smell of orange blossoms wafting through the space between them.
Fucking hair.
His fingers returned to torture her nipples and to punish her for using shampoo that made him want to fuck on demand. Glancing over one shoulder, he smiled with intense satisfaction, her nipples sufficiently chaffed and painfully erect.
He sat farther back into the chair, forcing her to sit up so he could run his hands down her back and over her spine. His thumbs playing at the scraps of cloth at the side of her panties as she squirmed on top of him in response.
“Lucas, please.”
Birdie Wellborn begging was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever witnessed in his life, and he’d die a slow death before getting enough of her breathless pleas.
This was usually when he would ask his one-night stands what they wanted and how they liked it. Ever the gentleman, always checking in and deferring pleasure to the woman first and foremost.
Not this time and not with this woman.
He brought his mouth to her ear and rumbled, “You’re going to have to wait until I’m done with you.”
He could almost see her pouting as he pulled her against him with one arm and shoved his hand down the front of the white satin cloth of her panties.
Fuck… she was wet. For the sheer pleasure of it, he ran his fingers through her folds and then surprised her by pinching her clit as he licked her neck.
Her legs attempted to come together, surprised by the attack to her bundle of nerves, but then spread wider for him, pushing back on the arms of the chair as he tormented her.
“Omigod, Lucas… I can’t…”
He responded by picking her up by her hips and dragging her over his arousal and back down, the friction from his shorts and her small-as-shit panties making him lose his mind.
Her breath seized and he thrust upward, hard.
