Broken Compass

His deep voice as he whispers my name in return.

What he’s getting too good at is distracting me from my thoughts and sadness.

And making me fall a little bit more for him every day.

“You’re so sexy, girl…” He pushes a finger inside me, and I groan. “So sweet.”

His hard-on presses against the small of my back, an iron rod, and it makes me burn with need. “I want you…” I whisper.

We haven’t reached that point yet. Haven’t had sex with each other, he hasn’t been inside me. And I want him to. So badly.

But he adds another finger, stretching me, filling me up. His fingers slide in and out of me, fucking me, and I lose the thread.

He does that to me. All the time. Wipes my mind clean as he plays my body like a melody, stroking and ramping up the pressure until I’m writhing in his lap, head thrown back, shamelessly riding his fingers and moaning so loud I bet our next-door neighbors can hear me.

And not giving a damn.

I can’t stop this—this thing between us, between me and these boys, this pleasure they give me, this joy, this absolute, all-consuming need for them.

He’s breathing hard now, his body tense at my back, the thick muscles in his thighs straining under my legs as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, his teeth nipping at my neck.

He’s undoing me, knot by knot, link by link.

One more thrust and I lose the battle. I cry out as I come, tightening and pulsing around his fingers, my hips restlessly rising and falling, the pleasure cresting and then lapping at me in softer, gentler waves that still make me shudder.

God…

“That was hot,” he whispers against my neck. His hard-on is massive against my back, and his breath catches when I shift against him. “You’re hot.”

“And you’re hard.” Still struggling for breath, I turn around, slide to my knees between his legs. “Let me take care of you.”

“Wait…” He hisses when I unzip his jeans carefully over the bulge in his briefs. “You haven’t finished your lunch,” he pants, gazing down at me, eyes narrow and dark with lust.

I pull his hard cock free and take him into my mouth before he makes any bad jokes about eating. He tastes salty with a hint of sweetness, and when I suck on the head, he groans and twists his long fingers in my hair, pushing me down.

Obliging, I take him in deeper, sliding my lips up and down his long length, pleased when his voice breaks on a moan and his hips jerk up. Giving my guys pleasure is one of the things I love the most. Seeing the worries and fear slough off them like dead skin, seeing them happy and relaxed.

It’s everything.

And it’s exciting. My body tingles and tightens, even though I’ve just come at his hands. He’s rocking up, now, fucking my mouth, and I gasp, my mouth sore and my pussy clenching. He’s so beautiful when he’s about to come, muscles taut, pale skin glistening with sweat, that full mouth slack.

More beautiful than ever.

He’s so close he’s trembling with it. I close my hand around the thick girth of his cock and suck harder, salt and bitterness flooding my mouth.

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and then he’s coming. I swallow and swallow until I can’t anymore and pull back to draw breath.

Wheezing, I watch as his dick twitches and spills some more all over his clenched abs.

His hand is still wrapped in my long hair. He tugs lightly, until I brace my arms on his thighs and smile up at him. “Goddamn,” he grinds out, “you killed me.”

“A good death, I hope?”

He chuckles. He sounds drunk. “Oh yeah. I got an idea… what if we move this to the bedroom?”

I shake my head, bite down on the urge to say yes. “You’ll make me late for work, like you did yesterday.”

He makes a face. “But you love me anyway, admit it.”