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But once again, the surprise hits me when she just smiles, takes her fingers out of her pussy, and licks them clean, eyes locked on me.
If she were mine, I’d punish her.
If she were mine, I’d tell her she knows damn well that’s my job.
Something tells me that if she were mine, she’d do it anyway, the same smirk playing on her face.
But then she’s standing, unsteady on her feet, and turning to face my bed.
And then she’s kneeling on the edge of it, legs spread, hands on the mattress.
I step back, taking in the scene.
Her full ass on display, her asshole begs for its own special treatment. Her pussy is already swollen and wet. Thick thighs end in the mattress, her back arched, her head looking over her shoulder at me.
An eyebrow raised in challenge.
I stroke my cock and then I step closer, lining my entire body with hers. Then I lean forward, my chest along her back, each vertebra beneath me as I put my mouth to her ear, sucking the lobe into my mouth, running my tongue along it.
I’m about to ask her if she’s on anything.
I’m clean, and if she’s covered, nothing can stop me from sliding into the wet cunt I’ve been dreaming about, for better or worse, for the better part of a month.
And then myfucking phone rings.
Her body tenses.
My body tenses.
Deep down, I know we’re fucked and not in the way I thought we’d be a minute ago.
Because I know I just lost her.
I know when my phone continues to ring and I look down at her, her face tilting to mine with a look like she just came out of a daze, like she just came back to the land of the living.
No, no, no!
“Oh, God. Oh, God!” she murmurs under her breath, and I stand.
“Fuck,” I say, because I know that’s it.
She’s come back to reality, to her senses.
“Oh my God, I should have never—we should have never —we almost—”
“Lola, stop.”
“I have to go.”
My phone is ringing, the sound vibrating in my mind like a mosquito that I wish wouldjust fucking shut up. Lola is moving to her ass from the position I had her in, and her eyes are dazed, looking around the room, searching for her clothes.
“Where are my shorts? I need—”
“Lola, stop,” I say, grabbing her wrist.
And that’s it.
The last straw.
