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“Jesus…” he manages.
“Then slowly, so slow it drives you crazy, I’d slide my lips over your head, then trail my tongue over that glistening tip.”
Okay so maybe this is easier than I thought it would be. And it’s turning me on, too.
He grunts, as though he doesn’t have the words any more. I feel powerful, as though I could bring him to his knees.
“I’d have to curl my hand around you, too,” I whisper. “Because you’re too big to swallow. Though I’d try.”
He almost splutters. For a minute I wonder if he’s choking.
But no. Just turned on. So am I, for that matter. Maybe it’s a good thing there’s hundreds of miles between us because my willpower is non-existent when it comes to him.
“I’d move my head up and down. And you’d thread your fingers through my hair, guiding me because you know that I like to please you. And because you’re so turned on, you’d start to fuck my face, using my mouth like you own it.”
He’s fisting himself harder now, the tip of him swollen and red.
“And I’d be so turned on, too,” I whisper. “Because I love the taste of you. The silkiness of your skin beneath my tongue. The hardness of your cock as you hit the back of my throat.” I slide my hands down my nipples. They’re so sensitive I gasp.
“And then I’d open my legs and trail my fingers between my thighs. Touching myself because you make me so needy.”
“Touch yourself now.” It’s harsh. A command.
I do as I’m told.
“Are you wet?” he asks.
I slide my yoga shorts down because they’re way too tight to do this with them on. And then I touch myself.
“So wet,” I whisper.
“For me.”
“Always for you,” I tell him. “Always.”
“Slide a finger inside yourself.”
“I already have,” I admit.
“Such a sweet little pussy. So tight.” His breath is ragged. “Tell me it’s mine.”
I touch my clit with my thumb. The sensation makes me gasp. I’m so close it isn’t funny.
How does he do this to me every time?
“It’s yours,” I tell him.
“Say the words. Be dirty. I want to hear it.”
His hand speeds up. His chest rises and falls rapidly. I roll my hips as I mimic his rhythm with my own fingers, wishing he was here with me.
“You own my body, Liam,” I say. “My pussy is yours.”
He groans and his hand stills. I watch as he surges, come spilling out of him, over his hand and stomach. A moment later I follow him into oblivion, my own body pulsing around my fingers as the pleasure uncoils in me, my hips lifting from the sofa as I let out a low sigh.
And when I open my eyes he’s staring intently at me. I stare back, waiting for the embarrassment to come. Because it should. I just touched myself in front of a guy I’m trying to not fall for. And I watched him come on his stomach, wishing I was there to lick it off.
“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he tells me, as though he can read my mind. “Let me watch you taste yourself.”
