I stood completely motionless, watching as his shorts were undone enough for him to slide a hand inside. His eyes hooded and he gave a low, pleasurable sigh. It was hypnotic how he deliberately moved up and down, teasing both me and himself.
When we locked eyes, he understood what I wanted, but also how much leverage he had over me.
“I’ll show you mine,” he said, both joking and entirely serious, “if you show me yours.”
Erika
A thrill burst in my bloodstream. This was naughty and sinful, and so wrong; how could I refuse? The lack of sex had voided out my ability to make good decisions, and if seeing me topless had this effect on Troy, I was more than willing to do it again.
“Okay,” I said, and deposited my phone on the shelf nearby.
He quirked a sexy eyebrow in pleased surprise . . . and then urged his shorts over his hips. They descended his legs, revealing his fist wrapped around himself, and my breath cut off.
He.
Was.
Impressive.
I stared at him unabashedly while he stepped out of his shorts. I was in awe, watching as he stroked his hand down the length of his hard cock. Every muscle in me had tensed to prevent me from leaping forward and touching him. The desire to do so was partly because my lust had made me crazy, and partly to see if he was real and not a figment of my imagination.
God, he was gorgeous, all glistening with sweat as he oh-so-slowly fucked his hand and studied me.
I fisted the sides of my dress and lifted. Our gaze was only broken for a moment when I pulled the garment off and let it fall from my hands.
The electricity flowed as a current between us, and it hummed deafeningly in my ears. It had been erotic watching the rhythmic glide of his fist over himself, but it was incendiary to see the desire rolling through his expression as he stared at me. Troy’s eyes were liquid heat, and his chest rose and fell with his labored breath.
There was a rough, raw edge to his voice. “Your tits are fucking amazing.”
It seemed to have come out of his mouth before he’d thought it through, and it must have set off warnings he’d crossed a line because his face abruptly went blank. Was he worried he’d offended me? Because all his compliment did was make me burn hotter.
“Aren’t they?” I said.
My lust pressed down, molding me into a new person . . . one who wasn’t shy or worried about her partner’s reaction. I cupped the undersides of my full breasts and pushed them together, displaying them to him. Almost as an offer.
Troy’s sound of satisfaction was like I’d punched it from his center. His free hand moved, rising for a moment, like he wanted to reach out and touch me, but then thought better of it. We weren’t close enough for it anyway, but the action caused my heart to flutter with excitement.
We couldn’t . . . could we? It’d make all of this too real, with real consequences.
His gaze stroked over my curves, just as his hand worked himself over, and each pass increased the intensity of the need pounding deep inside my body. It was hard to breathe, hard to stand still, as he twisted his grip and pleasured himself while his stare burned into me.
“What are you thinking about?” I whispered.
“Don’t ask me that.” It was part plea, part warning. Because whatever the answer was, it was very, very bad.
I was drunk, delirious, and out of control with lust. “Do you want to touch me?”
“Yes.” The word burst from his lips with no hesitation, but then he looked stricken. “No. I shouldn’t.”
A sobering thought hit me like cold water. “You have a girlfriend.”
“What?” He froze. “No, no.” He let out a tight, embarrassed sigh. “If I touch you, shit’s going to . . . escalate.”
Relief washed through and disarmed me. His phrasing was almost amusing. “Escalate?”
His pointed look was stern and provocative. “Yeah, Ms. Graham.” When he repeated the word, he drew it out, weighting each syllable. “Escalate.”
“It’s Erika.” It was too formal and impersonal for him to use my last name, given what we were doing. Plus, it was a bit too much like The Graduate, even if I had seduced him into doing this. “Are you worried I won’t be able to handle you?”
“No.” He was perfectly serious. “I’m worried I won’t be able to handle you.” His gaze dropped down to his dick clenched in his hand. “Look at me. I haven’t fucking touched you, and I’m already close.”
My excitement ratcheted up to a new level. “Are you going to come?” I was breathless. “Right now, in front of me?”
He shuddered through the powerful effect my words had on him, and his dick jerked under his grip. “Do you want me to?”
I hadn’t thought about it until this very moment, and suddenly, I was desperate for it. If we didn’t touch, what we were doing felt “safe.” We’d walk right up to the edge of danger, but not cross over, and I hungered to see him lose control in my presence.
Need choked my throat, making it hard to speak, so I nodded quickly.
This time, when his hand resumed moving, it was faster, and a determined, focused look settled in his eyes. Did he feel like he was on stage, performing for me? If so, he didn’t seem uncomfortable.
Not even a little.
He put his free hand on one of the treads of the stairs, as if preparing and needing something to hold onto. When he pumped his fist, his hips moved in time. The subtle gyrations ripped me open and poured more heat inside me. I wanted him to move like that against me, in either my hand, or in my mouth, or inside my body. It was pornographic how he swayed and rolled. A private show for me that was so lewd I could barely blink, not wanting to miss any of it.
His grasp was firm and tight because the skin around his grip moved up and down with him, making the head of his cock disappear as he focused on the tip. Short, heavy breaths worked loose from his lungs, and it was difficult to tell which he enjoyed more: jerking himself off or looking at me.
He’d been using one hand this whole time, and maybe it’d gotten tired or strained, because he ringed himself at the base, and his other hand came off the stair step to take over.
Wait, no. He cupped his hand, then tipped his head forward, and I watched as a bead of saliva trailed from his lips down into his palm.
“Yes,” I encouraged. “Get it wet.”
Holy shit. How many margaritas had I had? I’d never said anything like that before, and the abrupt dirty talk from my lips was startling.
But Troy? He very much approved of it. He shuddered as his fresh, damp hand took over, and the fatigued one massaged lower. God, it was sensual the way he touched and rubbed himself, as if enjoying it as much as I did.
“Fuck,” he groaned in satisfaction. “I want to see all of you.”
His gaze dropped to the only thing left on my body, the peach bikini bottom, and air whooshed out of me. Wasn’t it silly to be bashful about this? And a little unfair, since he was completely naked and had followed every order I’d given him?
He wasn’t sure how to interpret my hesitation, so his voice went husky. “You want me to come over there and help you?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “And no, because if you touch me . . . I don’t know what will happen.”