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My mouth feels like it was swabbed with cotton.
The remote starts to fall from my hand and I fumble with it, attempting to catch it, my eyes swaying from her until I can get a hold on it. If I didn’t have one foot on the floor my whole damn body likely would have fallen off. “Where the fuck did you get that?” comes out with way too much bite to be aimed at her, reminding me of all the slutty underwear comments I used to make in the beginning as I take in the lingerie she’s wearing.
Black corset so tight it shows off every curve. Cleavage spilling out the top. The panties she’s wearing has this ruffle that runs around the entire top, and the way she has her arm propped against the doorframe and her body positioned, it’s obvious it’s a thong. An elastic piece that looks similar to a bra strap connects the top to a pair of sheer, black, thigh-high stockings that runs down to a pair of black heels. Her hair is down, the blonde half spilling over her shoulders and running down her chest and over her breasts.
The way my pulse is racing makes me feel like I’m on speed. I’m terrified and excited to see her come into twenty-one if she looks like this now. My eyes regretfully move to hers. She has a villainous smile present. She knows she’s hot.
But this . . . Thank fuck I’m here for this instead of getting a photo sent to me offshore. She likes to torment me that way. Everything inappropriate that she used to post on Instagram for the public was multiplied in hotness factor when she started sending it to me privately. I have a love-hate relationship with the stuff she sends me at work.
“It’s called a store,” she finally says, answering the question I’ve already forgotten about. “The kind of store where I buy all of those slutty panties you pretend you don’t like,” the bitch adds.
A hmph comes out of me, not liking to be called out for shit. I hated her slutty panties when there was a possibility she was wearing them for someone else. When it’s for me, she couldn’t have enough. She knows it. She’s trying to get me riled up.
I keep my face even. “You act like you know me.”
The start of a smile forms, but then she smothers it. The second she pushes off the doorframe and takes the first step toward me, I inhale from feeling winded over how hard my heart starts beating. I’ve seen girls in a lot of things, like sexy Halloween costumes, next-to-nothing underwear, bar clothing that covers little. I’ve even seen simple forms of lingerie that can be worn under clothing, but premeditated full-out lingerie intended for me—never. I haven’t been into a girl enough to even want that side of a relationship until Paxtyn.
I sit up on the edge of the bed, tossing the remote on the nightstand. It feels like she’s walking in slow motion. My eyes don’t know whether to remain on hers or move to everything else. When she makes it in front of me, her index finger runs along the length of my jaw, and then she says, “I know you better than anyone else.”
Every tense muscle relaxes. “Yeah, you do.”
“I bought this for you,” she says.
As if that was my invitation, my hands wrap around her legs from where she’s standing in front of me, starting at the back of her knees. My fingers skim over the textured stockings until they make it to bare skin, and then grip hard as they climb the hill of her ass. “You know how much I love it too.”
She comes closer, then straddles me on the bed. “I’ve missed you.”
I love that we’re like two different couples: one in public and a different version in private. Being alone with her is my favorite. My hands rise, wanting to feel her, the fabric, to memorize all of it. She’s working her way into every part of me. “I’ve missed you too.”
She grabs my shirt at my hips and starts pulling it up my body. When she gets to my pits, I raise my arms to let her remove it. She leans in just before releasing the fabric and her lips touch down on my neck. The way she brushes along my skin so soft gives me chills. When she gets close to my ear, her teeth pull at the lobe and she says, “I’ve been feening for this dick of yours since you left.”
My eyes close, unable to remember a time in my life when a girl could make me feel like this in the middle of sex, let alone practically clothed. What people would think about a newly turned twenty-five-year-old with a seventeen-year-old. The need for her to turn eighteen is high, but even knowing she still has a few months, I don’t give a shit about the age difference, because I know her and I know me, and I can’t let this go.
I grab her ass in my hands and grind her center along the hard ridge of muscle just beneath the denim. “Show me.”
She draws a line across my cheek with her upturned lips, and in a moment, she’s gone. She places both heels on the floor and stands, not reaching her full height because her hands are on the waistband of my jeans, trying to work the button through the slit. I lean back just a hair so that there is slack, unable to take my eyes off her. She works my fly open, and then reaches inside my boxer briefs.
My pelvis jerks forward when her hand wraps around my dick. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to that with her. With other girls, I controlled my own dick unless clothes were already off, and more times than not even then too. Personal preference and all that. With her, anything goes, and that’s my preference now.
She smiles at me, her face close to mine with the way she’s leaned over. “You’ve been feening too?”
“Yes,” I admit. No sense in lying when it’s been two weeks. I had a sense of balance between sex and everything else before I met her. Since, my hormones are in the lead twenty-four-fucking-seven.
She pulls it out and starts to stroke it. I work hard to control my breathing. “I’m going to suck it really good.”
I groan, already imagining her mouth around it before she drops into a squat, her legs spread wide to give me a better visual. Her hair falls forward when she puts her mouth on it, covering her face. I sit up straight, both my hands already scooping together each side until both sections of hair are in a makeshift ponytail with my hand so that I can watch her. I always watch.
She takes it in and sucks as she backs off over and over, using her tongue on the underside and around the head, starting slow and working up her speed as she finds a rhythm. The tip hits the back of her throat, causing my fist to clench around her hair, and everything becomes reflex. Before I realize what I’m doing, I push her head down lower. Her throat constricts, and within seconds my dick is drenched in her saliva.
I loosen my hold on her hair to stop and let her come up. Instead of pulling off me to rip me a new one like I expected her to do, she pushes back down and shakes her head, causing the tip to hit back and forth against the walls of her mouth. When my nuts tighten, I clench down on every muscle to avoid coming and pull back on her hair. Before the head crosses the threshold of her lips, she looks up at me, her lashes long and dark, those blue eyes cutting through my soul like a blade. “Fuck. Get up.”
I stand as she stands, already ditching my shoes and shoving down the remaining clothes on my body. As I step out of my jeans, I grab the back of her neck and pull her toward me until our lips meet. A hunger sparks inside that only comes with wanting her, needing her. Her taste is an aphrodisiac. Her mouth is as addictive as her pussy.
Her tongue circles around mine, her hands rubbing up my stomach. When she tries to shove me backward toward the bed, I spin us, pushing her top half down on the bed until the focal is ass.
She doesn’t try to come back up, or bitch about me not wanting to look at her face, only turns her head to look back at me. My eyes home in on her nose stud. When they lower to her mouth, she’s wearing a smile, drawing my eyes back to hers. “Beat it up, baby,” she says, then wiggles her ass.
No one. Else. Like. Her.
