I feel our tongues sliding and massaging against one another.
But it isn’t enough.
I want—no—I need more.
6
Katrina
Jesus fucking Christ! What am I doing?
The guy is a self-absorbed douchebag. The fucking asshole of all assholes.
Is he hot? Sure.
Does he have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen? By god in heaven, does he ever.
And can he kiss? Fucking better than anyone I’ve ever kissed before.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him. But I can’t help myself.
It just feels too fucking good to stop.
Just feeling his
hard body against mine, and the jackhammer he has for a cock, has me wet and aching for more than I want to admit.
“Put me down,” I demand.
He looks at me a bit confused. I’m sure he’s about to protest or come up with another line, so I tell him again.
To his credit, he listens and puts me down. And to his credit, my knees feel weak already.
“Get on your knees,” I order, daring him with my eyes to even try to question me.
“Excuse me?” he replies, grinning like a cocky, arrogant prick.
I hate how it makes me want him more.
“I purchased you. Not the other way around. So you’ll do as you’re fucking told and get on your knees.”
Fuck it. If I’m stuck with him, I may as well take him for a test drive. God knows I could use some sort of stress relief.
I lean back against the arm of my couch for support and lift my lingerie up over my stomach.
I’m beyond wet. Like dripping down the side of my thigh kind of wet.
He finally does as he’s told and moves one of my legs over his shoulder.
God, even on his knees, he’s towering over me.
I grab his silky black hair, and I move his face down my body—reminding him that it’s me who is in charge.
His tongue moves up along my thigh to lick up my juices.
A quiet moan escapes from his lips, telling me he’s enjoying himself.
My grip tightens as I move his face closer to where I crave, but his tongue and lips still defy me. They kiss and lick against my thigh in a desperate attempt to gain control.