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“Jason...”
“I want to see you pumped. Want to pull those swollen lips open and suck on your tender fucking clit. You want that, don’t you?”
I didn’t even need to think about it. “Fuck, Jason… Yes, I want that.”
“I want you dirty girl. I want your gorgeous tits in my face, your swollen pussy around my cock. I want to pound you and watch you come for me, want to hear the sweet little moans you make.”
My hand roamed between my legs, fingers pushing inside me. I could still feel him there. “I want you,” I hissed. “I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.”
“Tomorrow,” he rasped. “Promise me.”
“I can’t... I don’t know...”
“Promise me.”
I hesitated just a second. “Ok, but not here. I don’t have the place to myself.”
“I’ll pick you up. Seven sharp.”
And he was gone.
***
Gemma
Making my escape from Tessa and Chelsea was a close call. Dirty Angels, I’d said, and they’d asked me to cancel. I’d told them about my burlesque show, the only thing I could think of, only now they wanted to come. I’d rather have danced naked in front of my Uncle Jim, it would have been considerably less embarrassing than strutting my half naked stuff in front of Chelsea.
I prayed Jason would pull up quick, before I was rumbled. He did. I practically threw myself in the passenger seat, and let out a sigh of relief as we pulled away.
“Where are we going?”
“Steve’s,” he said simply. “But you won’t be fucking Steve tonight, not unless you insist.”
I shook my head. “No. I just want you.”
I could feel him smiling. “I missed you, dirty girl. I jacked off all over my laptop screen. It’s been a while since that happened.”
“It wasn’t my dazzling personality you were missing, then?”
“That, too.”
I turned my head in his direction, fighting back the impulse to rip my blindfold off and be done with it, damned the consequences. Would I recognise him? Would his face be just like the one I imagined through my fingertips? I was churning it over when his hand landed on my knee.
“I was serious, Gemma. I missedyou, not just your sweet pussy.”
“Is that your idea of romance?”
“As if you want romance.”
“True,” I giggled. “Good job I don’t, hey?”
“I can do romance,” he said. “I can do rose petals and candlelight and foot massages. I can even do cuddling in bed, and coffee in the morning. Under the right circumstances, that is. I’m not all filth, Gemma, it’s just been a long time.”
“I can’t,” I said, humour all gone. “Romance makes me nervous. It squicks me out.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Then I guess we’ll have to settle for pussy pumping and a hot dose of anal, won’t we?”
I’d happily settle for that.
