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It impaled me a little more. I clamped down on a whimper, not wanting Willow to clue in to what I was doing.
She didn’t hear, chattering on. “Your father said he’s lucky he didn’t wind up dead.”
Jackson sank his finger deeper, gliding the same two that had been in my pussy back to that spot. Pushed them inside, too, then held them still.
A shock of pleasure blazed.
My pussy pulsed. Or somewhere inside me did. I rose on my tiptoes.
He gave a low laugh and moved his hand in and out, teasing and finger-fucking my pussy and ass.
I adjusted to the intrusion, shifting my position to allow him better access.
This was fun. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t give the occasional sound of interest to Willow’s monologue, but it slowly built me up. A delicious tease.
Jackson moved beneath me, shouldering his way under my legs so he had his back to the chair. He was too big for that. I wobbled to keep my feet. His tongue touched my clit.
A sound burst from me. An abrupt gasp.
“What was that?” my stepmother asked.
“Stubbed my toe,” I sputtered the desperate lie.
“Oh, honey. You should be more careful. As I was saying.”
She began again. I lost the plot, twisting my fingers into Jackson’s hair as he devoured my pussy, his digits still penetrating my two holes.
He closed that hand, bringing his fingers together inside me so they were touching through my walls. Then he rubbed.
Holy fuck.
I spasmed again, so suddenly close to the edge I could see the precipice. Feel the sharp drop-off approaching.
“Are you listening to me?” Willow snapped. “The number.”
“Oh. Wait,” I almost moaned.
“She needs ye to write it down,” Jackson whispered.
“Just looking for a pen,” I said louder.
Except all I wanted was for Jackson to continue.
He disengaged from me and stood, collecting my foxy pad and a pen from the coffee table with his unsullied hand. I took it, gazing at his smug grin.
He grabbed my hips and turned me back to the chair, standing behind me.
“Shoot,” I said to my caller.
Jackson held my side, positioned his dick at my entrance, and thrust in.
“Fuck,” I yelled. “Shit. Sorry, Willow. Dropped the pen.”
“What is wrong with you?” she huffed.
I scrambled for mental capacity.
If only she knew.
