She takes the hand still plucking at her bra cup and guides it down to her jeans button. “Just pretend,” she murmurs. “It’s just make-believe. I know you wouldn’t, but now I am an adult and we can pretend that you would.”
“I—”
“What if I showed you where it hurt?” she asks, now guiding my hand to cup her pussy. It’s hot to the touch, even through the denim. She presses my hand against her harder, rubs against it. “If I begged and begged and begged? If I said, just this one time, just this once, teach me how to make my pussy feel better?”
Teach me how to make my pussy feel better. Jesus, I can’t resist that shit. I let out a wounded, hitched breath and she knows she has me. A triumphant smile plays over her mouth.
My hand drifts up to the button of her fly and works it open with practiced ease. We’re both looking down at it now, at the view of my hand framed by our roller skates and jeans, and her old T-shirt and my too-expensive watch, and it feels very, very easy to pretend right now. And then when I’ve worked her jeans open and slid my fingers down her panties and I’ve felt how fucking wet she is, all the pretending goes out the window.
“Baby,” I whisper, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her steady as I tickle over her slick folds. “My little nun is so wet for me.”
She whimpers the moment my fingers find her opening. “Is this what you need, sweetheart? For me to finger this virgin pussy?”
She gives a desperate little nod, gasping out a please as she tries to push against my fingers. Her skates make her move and buck and the only thing anchoring her is my arm on her waist and the two big fingers circling her entrance. My hand in her most secret place is tender, capable, working her open by degrees as my palm cups her clit.
“You think you’re ready for two fingers?” I ask.
“I—” Her head is rolling back against the wall. “Yes, God, please.”
“That’s good,” I tell her. “You need to learn to take more fingers if you’re ever going to grow up and take my cock.”
My shameful, forbidden words have her eyes fluttering closed and her hands fisting at my shirt. “Yes, please, please,” she moans, and I slide both fingers home.
She’s so fucking tight and so wet that my hand is coated in her, and she’s so gorgeous like this, so lovely and sexy and mine, my bold sort-of virgin, and it’s so easy to forget that she’s going to leave me, that it’s not really me she wants but my body and my experience. It’s easy to pretend she actually wants me, bossy, flawed Sean, and that when she starts letting out my name in these breathless, air-starved bursts as she rides my hand, it’s because she’s feeling the same thing I’m feeling: this keen, jagged edge of longing.
“It feels so good,” she manages. “Oh God, Sean, it feels so good, it feels so good—”
She thrashes and thrashes and still I tend to her sweet little pussy the way it needs, petting the spots inside that make her moan and rubbing at her clit, and then I bury my face in her neck and breathe in the sex and rose smell of her as she lets out a low cry and clenches hard around my fingers. More of her wetness soaks over my skin and her pussy seizes in long, luscious pulses, and I’m so fucking hard, but I think that I could almost give up my own satisfaction if I got to give Zenny pleasure like this every day. It’s heady, almost as heady as an orgasm of my own.
The pleased, affectionate—and yes, proud—glow I feel as I slide my hands out of her panties and slowly button her up is more potent than anything I’ve ever felt. I lick my fingers clean like the animal I am as she watches me with hooded eyes, and then I say, “That isn’t even the beginning of what I had planned for this pussy tonight.”
And this time, she’s the one to grab my hand and yank me away, right to our shoes and socks, and she’s the one to herd me, impatient, giggling, warm-faced, back to the Audi so that I can get us back to where we both want to be.
Chapter 19
“Are we going to have sex tonight?” my impatient girl asks in the elevator. “I did so well with your fingers.”
“Darling, two fingers isn’t even close to my cock,” I inform her smugly. But seeing her disappointment, I assure her, “But we’re still going to have lots of fun tonight.”
“I want to have sex,” she complains.
“Now, Miss Intercourse Doesn’t Define Sex, I thought we agreed that I’d set the pace. And it’s all sex, remember?”
She sighs, looking a bit forlorn. “Yes. I remember.”
“Good. You’re mine to treasure, sweetheart, and I want to savor each and every part of you as you flower open.”
I mean all those words, but I am secretly pleased that she’s growing hungry for sex. I’m starving for her too, but not even starvation will drive me past making this amazing for her. And amazing things take time.
Once we’re inside, I give her five minutes to get herself ready for me, and then I want her naked on my bed, a request that’s met with an eyebrow.
“Then you have to get naked too,” she says. “That’s only fair.”
“Okay,” I agree, and she looks suspicious at my easy acquiescence, like it’s a trick somehow. I laugh. “Zenny, I’m happy to get naked for you. It gets me hard knowing you like my body even half as much as I like yours. Now hurry up, so we can start playing.”
She disappears into the bathroom, while I get the bedroom ready, turning off the overhead lights and flicking on a corner lamp, arranging tonight’s props on the bed. I wasn’t kidding about how her obvious lust for me gets me hard, and my cock is heavy and rigid as I unfasten my jeans and pull off my shirt and toe off my shoes. I’m naked except for the jeans—my cock a dusky, thick pole jutting out from the open zipper—as she opens the door the bedroom. The bright light from behind her limns her body in glowing gold, glowing over those long, lithe legs and that taut belly and those pert little tits, currently tipped with hard, tight buds. Her hair is a soft, dark halo, and with the light angled like this, her eyes shine like stars. A naked angel. My naked angel.
My cock throbs and I have to swallow to find my voice. “On the bed,” I whisper, nearly cracking open with need as she walks toward me and the shadows melt away from her body. Every inch of her is perfection personified, and I can’t believe that of all the men in the world, she’s chosen me to share her body with. Her smiles and her worries and her time and her trust.
How did I get so fucking lucky?
And how will I bear it when it ends?
“I changed my mind,” Zenny says, a bit huskily. “You can leave the jeans on.”
And I realize she likes this, seeing my need for her framed so obviously, so painfully. I give her a playful little bow. “Whatever milady desires,” I say.
“You say that now, but I know you’re about to get bossy again—” She freezes when she sees what I’ve got laid out on the bed, and I study her face and her body as she takes in the toys. “Sean?”
I come up behind her, holding her hair away from her neck so I can trail comforting kisses along the curve of her shoulder. The tip of my cock brushes against the dimples at the small of her back, and we both shiver at the same time.