Smith sits up enough to unbutton my long-sleeved shirt and tug it off me. Then my jeans follow. Both are tossed to the floor without another thought. He slowly looks me over, his hands following his gaze, his rough fingers squeezing and kneading my flesh. “I want to fuck you so badly right now.”
I arch my breasts at him and cup them with my palms, offering them to him. “Then why don’t you?”
He growls, and my bra is almost ripped off and then thrown to the ground. Last are my panties. I’m lying on the cool bar surface, shivering, hungry, needing this man inside me so much I can’t breathe for wanting him.
I’m shaking now. He adjusts my legs until my feet are planted firmly on the bar. I’m exposed to him, naked.
When his tongue hits my clit, I jump. I feel his hot hand press my lower belly to keep me in place. “Don’t you fucking move,” he growls at me. “I want you right here, that sweet pussy open and dripping wet.” His mouth goes back to licking me, and I sigh and shudder from the expert movements of his tongue.
He sucks my labia into his mouth, which makes me cry out. God, that feels ridiculously good. I want to touch him but I do as he commanded and lie still. Smith rewards me when I obey him, makes me feel so good that I want to please him as much as I can.
He laps me and I’m dripping on the table; I can feel it sliding down my crack.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
“Yes,” I moan, as he continues fucking me with his amazing tongue.
“Does getting that wet pussy eaten on my bar make you feel dirty?”
I swallow. My pulse is skittering through my limbs now. My fingers and toes tingle and my breathing is shallow. “So dirty,” I admit.
He kisses my inner thighs and draws a small portion of flesh between his teeth. Bites down.
“Oh, God, Smith. Please…”
“Please what? What do you want, Aubrey? Tell me.”
“P-please…fuck me right now. I need it.”
“You’re so fucking sexy. I’m going to make you come all over my dick.” Smith takes out his cock and slides it in me, raw, and I feel every ridge and line on his perfectly bare dick, and oh God, it makes me start to thrust against it just to get it deeper. I can’t help it.
He pulls it out, pushes it inside me again, this time a little faster. He’s angled the tip so it rubs against my G-spot. “How hard do you want to be fucked?” His voice is so low I can barely hear him.
“As hard as you want to give it to me,” I find myself saying. It’s a challenge, a dare, me offering myself to him completely. Trusting him to give me what I want and need.
He groans. I feel him shift between my legs. “Oh, fuck yes.” Then he begins to pump into me, and I feel that familiar heat build in my belly. My clit is swollen and desperate to be touched. Like a mind reader, he says, “Stroke yourself as I fuck you, baby. I want to watch you pleasure yourself.”
I reach my right hand between my trembling thighs and brush my fingers on my clit. It pulses in my touch. I can’t stop moaning, arching, needing this, wanting to be his dirty girl. The waves ripping through me as he fucks me are impossible to stop. I’m bucking and stroking and squeezing my channel, and my pussy is so wet I can smell myself.
My orgasm starts to near. I pant, and Smith says, “Oh, fuck yes, give me that come. I want it. Come on my dick. Right. Now.”
My whole body is vibrating, moments from shattering apart and flying into pieces. My clit is pulsing beneath my frantic fingers, and he’s now slamming the full length of his cock inside me.
“God oh God oh God—” I arch and then as my orgasm hits me, I scream, scream, unable to bite back the enormity of sensations drowning me. It just keeps coming and coming, and I’m burning alive for Smith.
It seems to take a year for the orgasm to subside. My hands go limp, my legs sliding down the bar surface, and I gasp for air. Smith pulls the handle out of me and bursts, his cock shooting hot ropes of cum onto my lower belly.
“Oh fucking sweet Jesus, that felt so fucking good,” he says in a guttural tone. He moves to stretch out on top of me and takes my mouth in a hot, possessive kiss.
I give it to him, my body languid and sated, the stickiness of our body juices between us, my mind blissfully numb. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me, and I kiss him back, pouring all of my emotions into it. I’m overwhelmed by the love I’m feeling for him, my dirty, sweet boy.
After we kiss for a good minute, Smith pulls back.
He bends down to pick up his T-shirt from behind the bar and slides it over me. I love wearing his shirt—it’s like being wrapped in one of his hugs. At the sight of me in his big shirt, he smiles. Cups my cheek. “I fucking love you so much.”
I smile back. “I love you too. I can’t even tell you how much. It just grows bigger every day.”
“I miss feeling you in my bed every night.”
His admission stills me. After the shit storm with Roger was over, I went back to my apartment, though we spend at least three nights a week together. But on the nights I’m not with him, I lie in bed wishing I was. “I do too,” I tell him.