God, it’s been too long since I’ve had her. My cock is so hard it fucking hurts, but I’m not going to do anything about it.
This moment, right now, is all about her.
“Whit,” she whispers as I trace my tongue along the top of her panties.
I glance up to find her watching me. “Yes?”
“Take them off,” she demands, her voice quivering.
I smile. Run my tongue across the front of her drenched panties, making her whimper. “You’re not the one in control of this situation right now, are you?”
“Please,” she whispers as I continue to lick and nip at her. The thong’s fabric is whisper-thin, almost as if I’m actually touching her skin, but not quite. The barrier adds something to the moment, and I’m not ready to be rid of it yet.
“You’re not enjoying this?” I ask before I lap at her, my tongue flat against her throbbing flesh.
She hisses out a breath, her eyes falling closed as I continue to eat at her. I remember why I wanted to be in this room in the first place and I pull away from her, glancing up to see the mirror hanging above us. Her sprawled on the table, her legs wide, her beautiful body on display. Her head is cut off. I can’t see that gorgeous face, or all the frustrated fury on it, and I wish I could.
“Look up,” I whisper and she does as I ask, her eyes going wide when she notices. “Watch me.”
Forty-Seven
Summer
My entire body breaks out in goose bumps when I see our reflection. Whit between my spread legs, tilting his head back to watch me in the reflection. I’m cut off at the shoulders; I can’t see my face, but there’s something sexy about it. Almost as if I can detach from the moment and watch myself. As if it’s not even happening to me.
But it so is. I can feel his hands on me. Big and warm and possessive. Claiming me as if I’ve always belonged to him.
I suppose I have.
He gets rid of my panties, tossing them on the floor after he disentangles them from my shoes. “Bend your knees and brace your feet on the table,” he commands.
I do what he says automatically, as if I can’t help myself. Breathless, I watch as he descends closer, his hands going to the inside of my thighs, spreading me open. Pink, glistening flesh on complete display.
I think of the employees at the restaurant. What if they walk in? What if they catch us? I’ll be so embarrassed.
But then I remember Whit paid for the entire restaurant for the night. He probably told them we needed some alone time, and not to walk in on us.
He puts his mouth on me and I moan for so long, it’s almost embarrassing. I force my eyes open, watching his head move between my thighs, his hands holding me. I run my fingers through his soft hair, unable to look away as I experience his busy tongue and sucking lips driving me out of my mind.
All the while, I watch. My own personal porn movie, come to life.
I lift my hips, smashing my pussy against the lower half of his face and he slips his hands beneath me, holding me to him as he licks and eats at my quivering flesh. He doesn’t let up. Not once, and I close my eyes only for a brief moment, trying to gather myself. Compose myself. What he’s doing to me is torture. Exquisite, almost painful torture, but I know it’s going to be worth it in the end.
Watching him go down on me makes it that much easier for me to orgasm. I’m already going to come. I can feel it building inside of me. Big. Bigger. Little cries fall from my lips as he continues lapping at me, the tip of his tongue flickering against my clit. His mouth completely covers my pussy and I want to die when he starts tongue fucking me. In and out. In and out. I can’t stop whimpering. Moaning. Moving. He holds me to him, his fingers teasing along the crack of my ass, probing deeper, finding my asshole. He presses one finger against the tight rosebud, stroking me there, and that’s all it takes.
I come with a shout, drenching his face with my juices as I rub against him unashamedly, my body heaving, my clit on fire as he keeps sucking on it, his probing fingers driving me wild. He moves over me, his fingers still on my ass, his mouth finding mine and I kiss him with complete abandon, sucking on his tongue, tasting myself. I reach for him as well, my fingers finding his cock, stroking him over the fabric, wishing he were inside me already.
“I can’t fuck you here,” he tells me, panting against my mouth.
I find the snap on his trousers and undo it. “Why not?”
“This wasn’t part of my plan,” he admits, pressing his forehead to mine.
I slide down the zipper, delving my hand inside, my fingers shifting beneath his boxers and finding velvety smooth, hard flesh. He drips onto my palm as I begin to stroke him. “I want you inside of me.”
He groans, thrusting his hard cock into my palm. “Not like this.”
“Fuck me, Whit,” I demand, letting go of him so I can awkwardly shove at his trousers, too eager to have him inside me to worry about anything else.
He bats my hand away, grabbing hold of my hips and pulling me down the table so I’m hovering right on the edge. He shoves at his clothes, freeing his cock and then he thrusts inside me, to the very hilt, filling me completely.
We remain still, the only thing moving is his cock as it throbs inside of my body. We study each other, our breaths harsh, and I squeeze my inner walls around him as tightly as I can.
He moans. “Fuck.”
Tilting his head back, he stares at the mirror. At our connected bodies. I watch too, biting my lower lip as he slowly withdraws, his cock pulling almost all the way out, coated with my juices, before he shoves his way back in.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
His pace is lazy as he fucks me, easing in and out of me as if he has all the time in the world. I enjoy the slowness, savoring the way he completely fills me, possesses me with his every thrust. Reminding me that I belong to him.
Because I do. I belong to him so completely, but I don’t want to say it out loud. To admit it means I have to admit other things, and I’m not ready to go there yet.
I concentrate instead on the way he fucks me. Almost reverently, as if he wants to savor the moment too. He has so much self-control, it’s admirable. Is all that self-control just for me?
Sometimes I wonder if the stars aligned that night at his parents’ apartment in Manhattan. As if we were meant to meet. To kiss. To touch.
We kissed. We touched—each other’s souls. We marked each other. Connected.
Forever.
“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispers harshly, his gaze locked on the mirror.
I glance up, my entire body in the reflection. We stare at each other as he continues to push inside me. My skin is flushed pink, my nipples hard, my pussy so wet I can hear his every thrust.
“I’ve missed you,” he admits. “I’ve missed everything about you.”
My heart cracks at his words, the emotion in his voice. “I’ve missed you too,” I whisper.
He tears his gaze from the mirror and kisses me, our mouths locked, our tongues in battle. He increases his pace, fucking me hard, the promise of another orgasm building inside of me. Growing. I’m at an awkward angle, my back hurts as he shoves me against the table with the force of his body, but I don’t mind. Not when another epic orgasm is just within reach.