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Something about how quickly I’ve managed to spur on his desire makes me want to touch him even more—to tease him. I raise the tip of my thumb to my mouth, licking away the taste of his arousal, and Dante’s eyes close. The look on his face is something between bliss and misery.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Emma—”
I want toreallytaste him, to put my mouth on him, but I’m afraid that if I do, I won’t be able to stop. I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I shouldn’t let this go too far, that having sex with him here, in my bed, will be an intimacy I can’t take back. That it’s making a decision I’m not at all ready for.
So instead, I wrap my hand around his throbbing cock, and stroke.
Ifeelhis reaction, throughout his entire body. I see the muscles in his thighs and abdomen flex, the way his jaw tightens, and I hear his moan of pleasure as I stroke my hand upwards, my palm rubbing against the swollen tip.
“Christ,”Dante swears under his breath, his hips twitching as I stroke him again. “How does yourhandfeel so fucking good—”
He moans like I’m fucking him, as I rub my palm over his cockhead and stroke downwards again. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he was faking it—I didn’t think men got this much pleasure just from a handjob. But I don’t think Dante is the type to fake much of anything. And the expression on his face looks undeniablyreal.
It makes me wonder that much more what he’d do if I really did use my mouth.
I rub my thumb over the tip, collecting more of his arousal, using it to lubricate my strokes. His hips jerk up into the loose fist I’ve made around his shaft, and I feel the warmth of my own desire between my thighs, that spreading ache. A part of me wants to strip down, straddle him, and ride him until we both come—but I keep stroking him instead, enjoying the way he lets out a shaky exhale every time my hand brushes against the tip, the way his hips jerk and shudder.
Learning his body is a surprising pleasure. I find myself fascinated by what makes him respond—the way he gasps and his abs flex every time I rub my thumb over the tip and down to the soft flesh below, the way he groans when my fist meets the base of his cock and my hand tightens. His shaft is slick with pre-cum after a few minutes, my hand wet, and I have the undeniable urge to slip my other hand between my legs and get myself off.
I’ve never wanted to be ambidextrous so badly.
“Let me touch you,” Dante rasps, as if he’s once again inside my head. “I want you to come too, Emma. Please.”
The way he sayspleasefeels as if it could break down almost any of my defenses. I shift before I can think too hard about it, moving closer so that he can touch me as I keep stroking his cock in a slow, even rhythm that I can tell is pushing him closer to the brink. I feel his hand brush along the strip of skin between my tank top and the waist of my pajamas, and I’m struck by a sudden wave of that intimacy that I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
We’re in my bed. Me in my pajamas, him naked. There’s nothing planned or even particularly sexy about what I look like right now. We could be a couple, waking up together—
It’s almost enough to make me stop. But I want it too—the heat of his hand between my thighs, for him to soothe that spreading ache, to watch him come apart for me. His hand slides into my panties, his fingers expertly dipping between my folds, and I let out a gasping moan when his fingertips brush over my clit. My hand stutters on his cock for just a moment, squeezing, and Dante’s hips buck against my touch.
“Sorry,” I breathe, and he lets out a low, hoarse laugh.
“Everything you do feels good,” he murmurs, his fingers swirling around my sensitive flesh. “God, you’re so wet—”
I can feel the tension between us, on the verge of snapping altogether. His jaw is tight as his fingers stroke my clit, and I feel him throb against my palm, hard and thick and nearly at the brink of his release. It would feel so good to have him inside of me, to feel him fill me up while we fell over that edge together—
I quicken my pace. I need him to come before either of us loses control. I press my thumb beneath the tip of his cock, rubbing as I stroke him in quick, short movements that make him curse aloud, his hand meeting my rhythm as he rubs my clit firmly. I realize, dimly, that we’re going to come together—another intimacy that I hadn’t meant to allow, but I can’t stop it now. Every muscle in my body tightens, and I don’t have the willpower to stave it off.
Especially not when I feel him throb in my hand once more, his hips bucking upwards as his head falls back with a groan, and I see the hot spurt of his cum as it splashes over my hand and his abs.
“Emma—fuck—” He moans my name as he comes, one hand gripping the blanket as the other flutters over my clit, and I cry out in pleasure as I start to come, too. I can feel his cum dripping over my fingers, feel his orgasm pulsing through his body, and mine rolls through me in an answering wave. It feels so fucking good, and I reach down without thinking, gripping his wrist as I grind against his hand in an effort to get every last bit of sweet, aching pleasure from his fingers. I roll towards him, still stroking his cock as I fuck myself against his hand, and when his fingers dip lower to push inside of me for just a moment, I let out a breathless moan and clench around him.
“Fuck—” Dante gasps, thrusting his fingers inside of me. “God, I want to fuck you—”
“You can’t.” The words are half moan, half whimper. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“It’d be fucking worth it.” His hand thrusts harder, the heel of it grinding against my swollen clit. “Come for me again, little bird.”
My body obeys him in ways that I almost wish it wouldn’t. His fingers curl inside of me, thrusting, his palm pressed to my clit as he drives me into a second orgasm almost right on the heels of the first. My hand is lying against his thigh, his softening cock against the side of it, as I grip his wrist and writhe on his fingers and come for him all over again. I can’t be embarrassed by my need, it feels too fucking good. I come shamelessly all over his hand, pressing my face into the blanket, and I don’t feel the flush in my cheeks until he tugs his hand free and lifts his fingers to his mouth.
“Oh, god.” I bury my face in the pillow as he licks my arousal away, groaning as if I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. “Dante—”
“I’m going to spend an hour with my mouth in between your legs when I feel better,” he groans. “Two, if you argue with me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I need to tell him that that’s not going to happen, that whatjusthappened wasn’t supposed to, that we’re not going to keep doing this. That the night in his penthouse was supposed to be a one-time thing.
As it turns out, it’s difficult to say that to a man right after he’s declared his intentions to spend an extended amount of time eating you out.
I can barely breathe. I collapse back against my pillows, dimly wondering what we’re supposed to do now. I have to work tonight, and I can’t spend an extended amount of time lying in bed with Dante Campano. That violates that no-intimacy concern that I was so focused on, right before he made me come twice.
