“I just like driving you crazy.”
I don’t know what it is about him, but just talking like that, he gets my blood pumping. I must be beet red.
When we arrive at the house, I must not be getting out of the car fast enough for him. He opens my door and takes me by the arm and pulls me to my feet, and half drags me to the front door. I fumble with the keys, and his hand moves from my arm to the small of my back then slides down my ass and squeezes. I jerk and let out a little yelp as the door swings open and he pushes me inside.
Quentin pushes it shut behind him and grabs me by the waist. My feet barely touch the floor on the way to the couch and he pulls my legs out from under me. I drop onto the seat and he grabs my scrubs so hard I hear stitches pop, and he rips them down and off my legs, tossing them aside with a flourish, then yanks my shoes off.
I press my legs together and bite my lip. Quentin grabs my ankles and spreads my legs then yanks my panties up and off.
“You’d better not steal those,” I tell him as he lifts them from my feet.
“Why not?”
“If you keep taking my underwear, I won’t have any left.”
“Good, it just gets in my way.”
I cry out in surprise as he grabs my hips and pulls me to the edge of the couch, and sinks to his knees in front of me, between my legs. My thighs fall on his shoulders and I feel his hot breath on my skin. He lifts one leg up and kisses me under my knee.
It tickles. I bite down on a little giggle.
“Don’t do that, I’m all sweaty.”
He looks at me and licks under my knee. I shiver, pulling him closer with my legs.
“What’s this?” he says, pushing back against my heels. “I’m in charge around here.”
“Oh really?”
“Really,” he says. “If you’re not a good girl, I won’t let you come at all.”
He keeps his eyes on me as he kisses down my leg, leaving a hot, slick trail on my skin. I lie back into the couch and sink into the cushions, but I’m quivering all over with excitement.
Just do it, I keep thinking, but he likes to tease me. Just when I think he’s going to bring his mouth to my * he runs his tongue over my mound and goes to the other leg, kissing his way up to my knee, watching me silently plead with him. As he puts his lips on my calf, his finger presses inside me. I wasn’t even watching his hands.
My whole body jerks in surprise. He kneels in front of me, slowly moving one finger inside me, his eyes locked on mine. I can see his cock in his jeans, he’s so hard. I lick my lips.
“Why don’t you fuck me?” I say. “I want it.”
“I know, but you can’t have my cock until you beg me for it.”
“Please?”
“That wasn’t begging. That was a polite request. I’ll know when you’re begging.”
He ducks down and slides my top up, and starts kissing his way down my stomach. At first I think it’s going to be another tease, but as he moves lower he slows the movement of his finger and slips another inside me, filling me further. I sink back into the cushions as his tongue moves down my mound and slides back and forth over my throbbing clit. My hips jerk from the shock, and I feel myself clench around his fingers.
“Don’t stop,” I urge him, digging my heels into his back as my legs drape over his shoulders.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, “you’d better stop giving orders if you want to get off. I’m in charge around here.”
“Oh really?”
I start to answer but the words melt into a throaty moan as he takes a long lick and curls his fingers inside me. I twist and writhe on the couch as his tongue moves hot and wet over my most sensitive places.
I close my eyes and knot my fingers in his hair. He has such soft brown hair. I cry out and try to quiet myself but I can’t, and it grows louder and louder. My shoulders pop up off the couch as I curl up, my stomach tightening almost until it hurts as the tension coils in my body, all of my muscles going rigid at once. He’s so good.
I thrash on the couch as Quentin pumps me with his fingers and sucks my clit. I start to near the edge, my hands bunched into fists as my toes curl and my feet shake in the air, and he eases off, stealing me from the precipice of pleasure.
Then the sensation intensifies as he pushes me over the edge and I arch and cry out, clawing the couch with my nails as I squeeze a fistful of his hair. Then again. He doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming, slamming through my body until he draws back and I go limp on the couch and roll onto my side, curling up.
Quentin takes the folded blanket from the end of the couch and pulls it over me, covering me. I grab it and squeeze it around myself, still shaking.
“Fuck me,” I plead, “right now, hard. Just bend me over and do it.”
“Is that an order?”
“Please.”
“That’s not begging. You want my cock?”
“Yes.”
“Say it. Say you want my cock.”
“Give me your cock.”