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Baby…not a little taste, then, but a feasting upon my plump mound and swollen labia. I shook my head, my pussy bearing down as my hips pushed up.
"Just a little." Smiling, he slid lower, his big frame hunkering between my spread and bound legs.
Leaving my panties on, he pulled the gusset towards him. One finger spreading my juices while the others held the fabric, he jerked his head at Dimebag.
"See, she can’t help herself. Her pussy’s so swollen and wet, the muscles jumping and gripping when there’s nothing in her, at least not yet."
Dimebag nodded like a solemn student, a feeble attempt at an erection poking the front panel of his jeans. "Even though she knows you’re using her, lying to her…"
Smiling, Dean lifted a brow at his new protégé. "Am I lying to her or am I lying to you?"
Dimebag grinned then his brow furrowed. "Hey, Dean, man, you’re not lying to me, right?"
Dean swiveled his head until he was looking at my face. His gaze holding mine, he probed the edges of my pussy with one thick finger. "I’m lying to my new baby."
Dean dipped his head, blocking Dimebag’s view as his lips made direct contact with my throbbing clit. I managed a single whimper of denial before my hips took over, their lifts and darts shadowing the path of his tongue. Dean slid one hand under my ass, kneading the thick flesh as his mouth sucked and kissed and licked.
His palm supported me as I strained higher, the flat of his thumb resting against the opening of my sheath. My flesh sucked at it, wanting him in me, my body tied to the bed both unable and unwilling to deny him. I wanted that hard bulge I’d felt and seen fully embedded in my wet core, fucking me, fucking me hard, fucking, fucking, fucking?—
My hips bucked. Stars exploded across my vision. I realized the strangled moans of release filling the room were my own. I twitched and jerked, the pulsing of my pussy forcing more of my cream out to coat Dean's face and tongue with my climax. He licked, slurped, wringing another climax from me before he surged up the mattress.
His tongue slicing past my lips, he massaged my tender labia and the small nodule of my clit as he kissed me. Then, groaning, he buried his face at the crook of my shoulder. Bruising kisses dotted my throat. His breathing became ragged, his squeezing grew rougher. When he lifted his head at last to gaze into my eyes, his skin was flushed, a light sheen of perspiration glazing his forehead.
He kissed me chastely on the mouth. "Thank you, baby girl."
A soft moan from Dimebag reminded me that we were not alone. Dean’s head swiveled right and then he snorted. "Fuck, dumbass, go change your pants."
Getting up from the bed, he hustled Dimebag out and locked both deadbolts. Turning, he rested with one shoulder against the wall and stared at me. The front of his jeans strained away from the flat muscles of his stomach. He ran a hand over his abdomen, softly growling as his gaze broke from mine and cast about the room. Leaning over, he swiped his hand along the floor and came up with a half crushed pack of cigarettes.
"I’m supposed to be done with these." Pulling one out, he lit it and walked over to the window. He drew the drapes aside, opened the window and turned again to look at me.
The sun coming through the window made his skin glow like burnished gold all over. As my gaze sank lower down his body, I realized I was wrong. The burnished gold stopped at the belt line where a fat knob of purplish brown skin, all smooth and swollen, tried to escape his jeans.
He blinked and drew his bottom lip into his mouth. "Don’t look at me, baby girl. Not down there—not anywhere."
Was he serious? He had me tied to the bed, my breasts uncovered, my panties wedged between my lower lips and he was telling me not to look at him.
"Cover me," I whispered. "Please…"
Frowning, Dean crossed back to the bed, the cigarette hanging loosely between his downturned lips. His hand brushed over my hip and along my lower stomach as he reached for the thin white flat sheet bunched on the mattress next to me. He pinched its edge, his gaze catching and sticking on the pronounced rise and fall of my mound as I heaved and squirmed.
Ash fell from the cigarette’s tip to dust along my panty line. He brushed at it, his fingers lingering at first and then hooking the fabric, tugging until the material tore. His knuckle grazed my pussy hair, his eyes slowly shutting. "You’re still drenched, Garnet."
"Cover me, please." My pussy knotted in on itself again, the muscles churning and twisting at the barest whisper of his flesh against mine. "Please, Dean."
It was the first time I’d said his name and it didn’t go unnoticed. He looked at me, his expression clouding. "Don't call me that."
My lips parted, the question of what I should call him rising up, but he shook his head. "Don’t call me anything. I’m no one to you."
Already, I knew that wasn’t true and never would be. Even if I escaped this house alive, I would remember him for the rest of my life. Feeling a hot flush spread across my skin, I prayed my body wouldn’t quicken and burn at the memory.
Dean pulled the sheet across me then palmed my mound. He pressed a finger between my labia, wedging the threadbare fabric and soaking it with my juices. He took the cigarette from his mouth, his lips rolling in contemplation.
"You have a body made for fucking, Garnet. Everything is so lush and malleable."
Dean rose and returned to the window where he snubbed the cigarette out. Shaking the pack for a fresh one, he growled when nothing emerged. I kept watching him even though he had told me not to. His muscles rippled with agitation in the sunlight, the length and thickness of his erection more stark now that I had a side view. He was breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as his stomach grew more taut.
Turning his head, he caught me staring. Something dark and sensual flashed across his face.
