He gives me a sharp bite against my pussy, lifts his mouth off just enough to speak, and grunts, “Fuck the rules. Goddamn you taste so fucking good.”
When he brings his lips back and clamps down, I moan like a whore and bring my lips back down to his cock. The rings throw me for a second until I learn how to work them, and more importantly, how he likes me to work them. When I flick the ring through the tip, he moans. When I put my lips around both piercings and swirl my tongue, his whole body jerks and he growls against my clit. He almost flies off the bed when I take him deep in my throat and swallow around the tip.
“Fuck!” he roars against my skin, turning his head and biting down against my thigh. The only thing he does is fuel my desire. I take him as deep as I can before slowly dragging my mouth back up. “Meliiii . . . ,” he trails off and after a few seconds of feeling his abs clench against my tits, he brings his mouth to my wet center again and digs in.
We continue to duel against each other for a good ten minutes, silently daring the other to come first, but when he takes one of the hands tightly gripping me, and runs a finger lightly across my ass, I know I won’t last long. He trails his finger from each end until he sinks it deep. With just a few deep stabs, I’m coming against his tongue. I pull my mouth free and scream loudly.
“You . . . God . . . shit.” He laughs lightly against my pulsing core, and before I can bring my mouth back down to his swollen length, he has me flying through the air and on my back in seconds.
“Can’t go slow, babe; you have me strung too tight.”
“Condom, Greg.”
“Fuck, I want to feel you.” I know what he means; I would love to feel him bare.
“You go make sure bitch-face Barbie hasn’t passed some nasty crotch rot off on you, and you’re more than welcome to it, but not until you get checked. Firm on that, Greg.”
He grumbles his way to the drawer that has fallen to the floor at some point during the day, scattering condoms across the room, pick one up, and in no time is pushing hard back into me.
Frantic would be a good word to describe how we come together. Our skin slick with sweat, slapping together. Nails biting into skin, and fingers digging deep. Lips colliding and moans dancing together.
It is magical.
*
“You sure you have to go?” He asks me from his position sprawled naked on the bed. My eyes zone in on his naked skin, wishing I didn’t have to leave but knowing I need to. I feel the connection, but I know we are moving way too fast. A little distance will be a good thing. Who knows, we might wake up in the morning and wonder what the hell has gotten into us. Doubtful, but it might happen.
“Yeah. I’ve got some things to take care of tonight, and then I have to go see Cohen tomorrow.”
“Nephew, right.”
“Oh my God! You’re jealous of a kid? That’s a good one.” I burst out laughing when he looks away, clearly embarrassed by his jealousy.
“Come over Tuesday. We can do dinner or something,” he throws back at me after a few moments of silence.
“Maybe,” I smile over at him and zip the back of my dress. Nothing like stepping into the previous days clothing. “I’ll call you.”
“Melissa, babe . . . that sounds like one hell of a brush off.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks me in the eye. “Don’t play that hard ass shit; you feel it, this connection we have isn’t going anywhere.”
“Fuck that.” He pushes off the bed and stalks over to me. It’s hard to remember my reasons for wanting to keep this just sex. Just amazing, mind-blowing sex, when he is standing in front of me completely naked. “I won’t let you keep running when this feels so right.” His voice rings out strong and firm.
“It’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you when your dick is bobbing all over the place. Want to put some pants on?” He just continues to burn his gaze all over my face, refusing to let my sorry attempt at changing the subject work. “You scare me,” I whisper.
His eyes lose their hard, demanding look, and he immediately softens. “Beauty,” he murmurs back, “just give it a try. You don’t get a connection like ours and just throw it away. Just try.”
It’s moments like this, moments when all I want to do is be anyone other than the strong one, when I swear I can hear my sister speaking to me. Yelling at me to live. Yelling at me to stop letting her life and her mistakes pave the way for my happiness. The way to own my life and not let it be owned.
“Yeah . . . I can try.”
“Tuesday?” He asks again.
“Tuesday.” I echo.
*