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Swallowing, I really wish I could reach my glass of water right now.
“No. When I want something, I just make it happen. It’s never too much. I’m usually the one who’s too much. So, what’s going on? Am I too much for you after all?”
Crosby shakes his head. “I guess you could say I thought I was getting myself laid by the hottest woman on campus. Turns out…I’m starting to think other things.”
I pretend not to notice his hand that tugs the bathrobe open, slides over my ribs, then cups my breast. God, that feels good. “W-what kind of other things.”
“I don’t think fucking is enough for me. It’s both too much and not enough.”
Is this guy for real? “Did you hit your head? Speak plainly, doctor.”
“I wanna keep you. I’m gonna keep you.”
“You said you weren’t into kidnapping women.”
He laughs, and I laugh.
“You could have just asked me for a date on a night I was free and gotten to know me the old-fashioned way,” I tell him.
Snorting, he retorts, “You know damn well you would have said no if I didn’t know the many ways to get under your skin.”
When he says “skin,” his face is right up in the crook of my neck, his lips grazing my collarbone, his thumbs stroking my nipple. His cedar and cinnamon scent surrounds me; his body blocks me from escaping. I should push him off of me and sprint out of here. But oh my god, I do not want to leave. Not when his mouth is all over my collarbone.
“I can’t believe I’m just going along with this,” I say.
“I tried to get under your skin, and in the process, you got under mine, Kitten.”
“Sucks to be you, I guess. I’m a lot to handle.”
Kissing my neck, sending shivers across my collarbone, Crosby murmurs, “Oh, I can handle you. And I believe you’re gonna stay. And…I believe you will, and I believe you will jerk me off right fucking now while I suck your titties, Kitten.”
My breath comes rapid and shallow; I have to work hard to avoid sliding off this barstool.
“Do what now?”
He laughs softly against my breastbone. “You make me need to come just by existing. Surely you know how to make me come with your hands.”
He takes my hand and rests it against the bulge in his pajama pants.
As if driven by a motor, my hand rubs up and down on it.
“Good girl.”
With the way his mouth and his hands play with my breast, I can barely speak.
This man. How dare he. And yet, my body responds with delicious, terrifying heat to all this. My mouth salivates with need, and my mind reels at the sensation of his fullness in my hand. Combined with his relentless attention to my neck, my chest, my breasts, my body is humming. No, singing.
“That’s good, Kitten. Take it out. Take it out, take it out, take that big dick out. I fucking need you to see what you’ve done to me.”
Tugging down the waistband of his pajamas, I can see he’s not wearing underwear. What is it with this person and not having proper layers? First the top sheet and now this. A part of me is wickedly grateful, though. As I tug it down, it reveals a long, thick, veiny shaft at attention, resting against his torso, slightly to the left, as if intended to be aimed in my direction, like a plant following the sun.
I’m ridiculous the way my mind races with these thoughts sometimes.
I take it in my hand while Crosby sinks two fingers into my mouth. He sighs and groans with one nipple in his mouth. I stroke up and down on his shaft and feel his muscles tighten.
The more I stroke, the more vocal he is, causing more vibrations over my skin, through my body, and I begin sucking on his fingers. His cock is warm in my hands. He pulsates under my touch.
As I stroke him up and down, his fingers massage my tongue and mouth, and it’s shockingly hot. His fingers curl and tease and draw out my craving to take more, be touched more.
