Just her own lust for him driving her to lick and suck.
And maybe leave a few marks. God, he seemed to love the marks. He made that cut-off ah sound every time she sucked some of his delicious skin between her teeth—and all the while those hands never touched her. Once or twice she thought she felt them brush the back of her head, and his thumb occasionally grazed her jawline. But then he’d back off, as though afraid of blundering in before she could make a decision herself.
Then each time she made one, she heard his sharp intake of breath.
She got to his belt and he groaned so loudly it echoed around the place—and even louder when she started unfastening it. “Fuck,” he spat, but still he didn’t try to encourage her. He just waited until his thighs were actually trembling and his face was flushed all the way up to his hairline and his hands were clenched fists at his sides. By the time she finally eased his cock free he was almost beside himself.
But still she couldn’t stop going slow.
She couldn’t give up the teasing—not when it made her feel like this. Her pussy was a hot, thick fist between her legs; her nipples two stiff, aching points. Whenever she moved she could feel her own slipperiness sliding over her tingling clit and the puffy lips of her sex, so intense she thought she might be able to come like this. Just a little rolling of her hips and some more teasing of his cock, and she would probably be there. And especially after he started talking.
He’d been pretty much silent up to now, but when she starting rubbing her thumb around the slick tip of his cock he found his voice. His strained, breathless, beautiful voice.
“Oh Jesus Christ, Letty. I can feel that in my fucking teeth.”
“That sounds bad. Maybe I should go a little slower.”
She eased back on the circles she was making with her thumb—and on the pressure she was applying, too. Now she was barely skimming the glossy tip of his cock, in a way that made him pound the side of his thigh with his fist. It made him clench his jaw, so that when words came out they were as tight as a drum.
“Holy fuck that’s even worse. I feel like I’m gonna burst.”
“Then I should definitely slow down.”
“You should if you’re trying to kill me. Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, then seemed to realize all on a rush. “Oh good god you are, that’s what you’re doing, you’re teasing me to fucking death on purpose. You’re doing this on purpose, and you’re liking it. No, scratch that, you’re fucking loving it, aren’t you? You getting off on playing with me like this?”
“That really depends on how you feel about that.”
“I feel like I’m going to blow my load just watching you get all excited over my body and my dick and what all this fucking teasing does to me. Look at you. Jesus, look at you. Look at those fucking devil eyes and that flush all over you and those spiky little nipples. God, you look like such a horny fucking slut.”
He spat the last word, the way people did when they meant it as an insult. Only he didn’t mean it that way at all. She knew he didn’t, because the second the word was out his head went back. A long, low keening moan wavered out of him, followed by what could only be described as a seizure. His whole body seemed to clench, to the point where she could actually see it. She saw his abdominal muscles tighten and the cords stand out in his neck, and then that big, fat cock was swelling in her hand.
He was coming, she realized.
She had made him come, just by teasing him and wanting him.
A second later the first thick streamer of come shot over her hand and arm, so violently that some made it much further. She felt it spatter her T-shirt and almost came herself right then and there, and again when his hand went around hers. No more letting her do it on her own now. He wanted every last drop of this orgasm, and that meant urging her to stroke him. To pump his still-jerking cock until his shudders died down and that slippery liquid slowed to a weak trickle.
Though even then he kept it going.
He squeezed her hand around the solid shaft, gasping and moaning in a way that made her want to moan, too. She took in his flushed, slack face and his lust-fogged eyes and his heaving chest, and just needed to do something, anything, to relieve the ache thrumming through her.
Except for the thing he then suggested.
“Okay. My turn.”
“What do you mean, your turn?”
“I mean it’s my turn now to kiss and lick and tease you all over.”
He reached for the hem of her T-shirt, with all the serious intent he could muster. Though she knew the second he did it that he didn’t really mean it. He wasn’t actually going to just reach over and yank her top off.