Quinn never let me get away with skirting around my dirtiest desires. If you think it, you should say it, he said. Believe me, I want to hear it.
“I want to see your hands on your body. I want to watch you lose control. I want to watch you make yourself come while you look at me.”
His chest hitched with rapid breaths. “You’re such a naughty little girl.”
He didn’t know the half of it—there were all kinds of things running through my mind right now.
“I am,” I said, getting to my knees, running my hands up my thighs. “Because I’ve thought about it before.”
“Yeah?” His eyes were glued to my hands, which roamed over my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs. He moved his thumb over the shiny tip of his cock, and my clit throbbed.
“Yes. When you first moved in, I’d imagine you in bed below me getting yourself off while I did the same in my bed.” I slipped one fingertip inside myself and rubbed the wetness over my clit.
“I probably was. Fuck.” His hand moved faster over his cock, which was thick with veins and darker than the skin on his thighs.
“Did you think about me?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck yes, I did.” His ab muscles flexed as he jerked his fist up and down in quick, tight motions. “Are you wet?”
“Drenched.” Filled to bursting with the desire to please him, to do things with him I’d never done with anyone else, I pushed my finger in deeper. “Want to feel?”
His eyes nearly came out of his head. Before he could answer, I moved a little closer and put my wet fingertip between his legs, brushing over a sensitive spot, then sliding it back a little to test him. Would he let me? I wasn’t sure how far I should go—this was something I’d thought about but never done before. I’d never felt close enough to anyone to try it. But I wanted to with Quinn, wanted to see what it would do to him, wanted to experience that sense of power inherent in penetrating someone, getting inside him. What was that like?
“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Oh my fucking God, yes.”
Slowly and carefully, I pushed in deeper, delighted by the way it made him moan and curse, shocked at the tight, hot grip around my finger. With my other hand, I rubbed my clit, bringing both of us that much closer.
“Fuck. I’m gonna come,” he growled, barely able to speak. “So hard…”
“Right here,” I whispered, moving my other hand to my breasts.
With a strangled moan, he angled his dick toward my chest. His fist tightened and slowed, and I watched as he came on my tits in quick, hot bursts, his ass clenching my fingertip. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
When it was over, I fell back onto my hands and sat on the floor, panting as hard as if the orgasm had been mine.
He dropped to his knees, pushed my legs apart and lowered his head between my thighs. Propping myself on my elbows, I watched him devour me like I was covered in Chocolate Cartier.
He dipped his tongue inside, licking upward in short, tantalizing strokes. “So sweet,” he murmured. “How can such a wicked little girl taste so sweet?”
I’d been close to orgasm before, and as he swirled his tongue over my clit, I found myself right back at the edge, my lower body humming with pleasure, my breath coming fast, my knees opening wider.
He slid a hand up my stomach to my chest, which was dripping with his cum. Stretching his fingers, he smeared it all over my breasts while sucking my clit into his mouth. The sight of it sent me barreling over the edge, the orgasm tearing me to pieces like he said he would. I cried out repeatedly as all the tension inside me eased in blissful beats against his tongue.
“Enough, enough,” I panted when the sensitivity grew too much to bear. “Stop.”
He got to his knees and looked down at me. Without a word, he took the hand from my chest and rubbed two fingers over my lips. I opened my mouth and licked them, sucked the salty sweetness off the tips, eyes locked on his.
The moment was so intense, it frightened me. In the silence I heard myself speaking words I didn’t want to say, feeling things I didn’t want to feel. I was on the hard kitchen floor, but it didn’t feel solid beneath me. It was splintering, breaking
apart piece by piece—I had to get up soon or I’d fall through it.
“Wow,” I forced myself to say. “I’m a mess.”
Quinn made a noise between a groan and a laugh. “It’s so fucking hot. Do we have to clean you up?”
“Yes, we do.” I sat up all the way and looked down at my chest. “Or, rather, I do.”
“Let me do it.” Quinn popped to his feet, turned on the faucet, and started opening drawers. “Where are your towels?”