Apollo (Cerberus MC)

My shirt rests under my chin, his eyes burning into my flesh, and when his tongue traces his lower lips, I feel it on me. The warmth, the heat, like he’s sucking and licking on them.

“God, you turn me on so much,” he says reverently as he pulls the shirt all the way off. It joins the clothes he discarded earlier on the floor.

I want to pull my hands up and cover the exposed parts of me, especially when he keeps looking and makes no move to touch me. The ache only grows more, and I know covering myself would ease some of that discomfort. It’s the look of awe in his eyes, the desire burning through him that gives me the courage to speak.

“They ache,” I whisper, my voice husky.

“Are they sore from the pregnancy or from need?”

I swallow, and it seems to be enough of an answer for him. “Touch them.”

I shake my head. I know he doesn’t mean that I should cover them. That’s not what he’s suggesting.

“Shorts?” he asks again, his fingers brushing my skin as he dips them inside the waistband an inch or so. I lift my hips in answer.

As he slowly pulls the cotton shorts down my legs, he doesn’t seem turned off by the navy, cotton panties I’m wearing, but his focus is singular, glued to the apex of my thighs. I take a look down, wanting to see what he sees, and I squeeze my eyes closed, noticing the darker color of the fabric between my legs.

“April,” he groans, making my eyes snap up to his.

That pink tongue that feels so great swirling against mine traces his lower lip, and his eyes never leave that damp spot between my legs.

“Touch yourself.”

I know it’s not physically possible to explode, but I feel like that’s about to happen to me.

“I can’t.” My voice is shaky, and I want his hands on me so badly, but doing it myself? I could never do something like that in front of him.

“Because it’s a sin?” he asks, not a trace of judgement in his tone.

I swallow again, forming words quickly becoming impossible. I cover my face, pushing it into the crook of my inner elbow. His breathing has grown as erratic as mine feels, but he doesn’t touch me other than where his legs are touching mine. My other hand, reaching down like it has a mind of its own, brushes the top band of my panties. I can feel the tremble in my fingers, and I wonder if he can see it.

“Your panties are soaked, baby. Does it hurt?”

“It throbs,” I confess.

“That’s need and arousal. Has it ever ached like this before?”

I shake my head.

“You make me ache, too, April. Look what you do to me.”

It takes forever, a million slow breaths before I’m able to pull my arm from my eyes. He’s gripping his erection through his boxers, the size of it filling his palm. I never really looked at Cory’s penis before, but I have no doubt that its size doesn’t compare to Nate’s.

Fear and a thrill of excitement rush through me, and my body grows even more needy at watching him touch himself.

“Touch yourself,” he says again.

So I do. I dip my fingers behind the fabric of my panties, skimming the tips right where I hurt. The first brush makes it feel like my body has been struck by a live wire, an electric current radiating from the contact.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?”

My eyes dart away, shame of my truth making me want to put a stop to this whole thing.

Nate doesn’t seem as concerned for my sins.

“Naughty girl. Show me what you like.”

Somehow, without touching my skin, he crooks a single finger, pulling my panties to the side and exposing me to his eyes.

“Can you feel how slick you are?”

I nod, my throat drier than it’s ever been from the harsh breaths rushing in and out of me. My chest is heaving with the effort to breathe normally, and it seems like he doesn’t know where to place his focus as his gaze darts from my breasts to where my hand is taking over and rolling in small circles.

It has never felt like this when I’ve caved and given in to the sinful need to ease the aches. I’ve never felt so alive, so ready for something I’m too terrified to ask for. The muscles in my stomach quiver when I hit a certain spot, and I don’t know whether to avoid doing it again or keep touching myself where those sensations make me burn low in my belly.

“I want to come on you so badly,” he moans, his hand gripping himself so hard it looks like it should be painful.

“Yes,” I whisper because God, I want that, too.

He said it before back at the hotel, and at the time it didn’t make much sense, but now that we’re like we are, I want nothing more.