“God, get on with it.”
I’m not sure I want to get on with it. Maybe I just want to take my time, put my hands all over her. I push between her thighs where they’re splayed open, her knees bent, feet dangling off the edge of the cabinet. She’s wearing a skirt, which is handy; it’s shoved up to the tops of her thighs, already out of the way, and her panties show, a wink of pink as she shifts. She’s hot and wet against my stomach; I can feel it right through her panties, my shirt. Kissing her, I start to pull at the buttons on her top.
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and peels it up. Her fingernails scrape over my skin as the shirt rises, and I shudder a little, an involuntary noise coming out of me, like a growl. She chuckles, drags the shirt over my head, and gives it a random toss over her shoulder.
“You look good, Cain.”
I drag the sides of her unbuttoned blouse open and look down at her breasts, swelling out of the cups of an orchid-colored silk bra. Her skin is pale and flawless, especially in contrast to mine—darker, scarred, my left forearm inked to the wrist. “So do you, Jess.”
“I don’t think I said you could call me Jess.”
“I don’t think I need your permission.” I grab the little plastic fastener between her breasts and pop it just right. The mounds fall forward and down, no longer propped up by the bra. They’re big and round and warm and alive, and I like them so much better like this. Free. Naked. And out there where I can taste them.
She jumps when my teeth close on her nipple. I’m not biting that hard—it’s not like I’m going to draw blood or anything—but she’s so revved right now I bet she would’ve done the same thing if I’d just touched her. I press a little harder just to see what happens. Her hands grab at my hair as if to pull me back, and then stop. Ah, good. She likes this.
With one hand, I lift the breast I’m biting, feeling the heavy softness against my palm. What is it about a woman’s tits that can make my brain scramble? Or, for that matter, a woman’s anything. Her mouth, her eyes, the curve of her neck, the rich, musky smell of her cunt. I want all of it. Every inch. Under my hands, my tongue. Surrounding my dick.
I rock forward in the space between her thighs, rubbing my erection against the wet heat of her ruined panties. She’s grabbing at me again, pulling me closer, scraping down my back with her nails. It hurts; I love it. Her fingers find the back of my waistband and track forward, stopping at the fly.
While she’s dealing with that, I take more of her breast into my mouth and reach between her legs with my free hand. Those panties don’t necessarily have to go, but they’re definitely in the way at the moment. I push them aside, and my fingers find the heat and the slickness hidden behind them. There’s hair on her *—I like that—and my fingers slide against her inner lips until they slip right into her, deep.
She gasps, arching her back and looking down. I push harder. Inside she’s tight and hot and so wet I feel like she might drag my whole hand inside her with that shaking, grasping cunt. God, I want my dick inside her. Now.
She’s gotten distracted, though, and hasn’t finished undoing my pants. Reluctantly I let go of her breast and reach down to take care of that little detail myself. Even I have issues, though, and my fingers fumble on the zipper.
I can only get my pants down past my hips, but it’s enough, and when my cock springs free it makes a light slapping sound against her belly. She reaches down and grabs it. Nails again, biting into the delicate skin. It’s my turn to gasp, then growl, then bite my lip. Then bite her lip. She chuckles.
“Too much for you, big boy?” Her fist closes tight around my engorged shaft, her thumb sliding over the glans, where pre-come has already made it slick and ready. I can smell the deep musk of her arousal, the tangier scent of my own.
“Too much for you?” I ask as she strokes down my cock, fingers bumping over the big veins.
“I don’t think so.”
I know damn well I’ve got more than most guys can even hope for, and she’s going to feel it. I want to challenge her smugness, her little acts of aggression. “You sure about that?”
Nothing I say seems to faze her though. Reaching back, she squeezes my balls, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from unloading all over her. That’s not the goal here. “You ready for that condom?”
Right. The condom. She took it; what did she do with it? But I hear the foil tear open, and a moment later the ring of the condom touches the over-sensitized skin of my glans. She sets it on just right, rolls it down, and then moves my cock toward her *.
I stop her with one hand. “I think I said I was going to fuck you from behind.”
Her eyes gleam. She’s so ready. “You do whatever you want, Cain.”