Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

“Yeah, I’d be gentle. Patient and gentle.” He brought his face close to her breasts as he spoke, and watched his breath raise goose bumps on her skin.

She whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second to maintain control. “You’d be so attuned to my touch, even my stare would feel like too much.”

“Oh God.” She arched, blindly lifting toward his mouth. “Luke—”

“Is it too much?” For her, maybe. For him, definitely. He strangled his cock with his fist and cradled his throbbing balls in his other hand.

“It’s too much”—she whipped her face left, then right, in a helpless search for relief—“but not enough.”

“Then let me give you more. Put your hand in your shorts. Show me where it hurts.”

The lack of artifice as she rushed to follow his command affected him more profoundly than a contrived, purposefully seductive move could. This wasn’t Quinn the ice-cool actress. This was Quinn in need—shaky, desperate, unconcerned with winning their battle of wills.

“Here. It hurts here.”

He lowered his head a fraction to watch her hand disappear under the cover of her little pink shorts. The move changed the angle of his breath over her skin, and she whimpered again. Her hand made a restless circuit between her thighs.

“Describe the pain.” His was pounding, and constant. If he pushed his hips forward half an inch, the tip of his dick would touch her leg. Right about then it seemed like a half inch from heaven.

“There are two pains.”

“Start with the worst.”

“They’re both unbearable.”

“Quinn—”

“Okay. Okay.” She lowered her chin to her chest and sucked in a breath through her nose. “Here…” Her knuckles stretched her shorts as she circled her fingertips around the top of her pussy. “I have a sharp, urgent pain right here.”

“Rub it.” His fingertips itched to do the job for her. He reaffirmed his grip on his shaft instead.

She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t think I can stand to do that. It’s too…sensitive. You do it.”

“That’s not the lesson.” With all the willpower he could muster, he led his wayward pupil back to the task. “Help you help yourself, remember? Tell me about the other pain.”

The tiny ridgeline of her knuckles subsided and she flattened her hand and shoved it lower. “It’s deeper. More of an empty ache.”

“Like hunger?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll feel better if you fill it. Go ahead.”

She rocked forward a little, angling her upper body and sending her unrestrained tits swinging perilously close to his face, and then let out an edgy moan as she achieved penetration.

For a moment he became so lightheaded, he worried he might pass out, but he blinked away the hazy fog because he refused to miss an instant of her pleasuring herself. “Better?”

“Oh yes.”

“What helps most? Filling yourself, or massaging your clit with your palm?”

“They’re both good. But I don’t think it’s enough.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s not.”

He wasn’t going to allow her to fail. “Are you using one finger or two?”

“Just one. I’m so swollen

—”