Swing (Landry Family 2)

“You started this,” I say, a giggle in my tone. “You picked the park.”

“Because it’s the only place I can get you to meet me.”

“Because I didn’t want this to happen.”

He laughs out loud, pulling away from me. “Don’t kid yourself, babe. The only reason you came here was for this.”

“Liar!” I giggle.

“Oh, you came here because you really wanted to play catch, right?”

“Maybe.”

His hands go behind him as he stretches his torso out. “I wanted to take you to dinner and then to my place for dessert. You didn’t want that, so I switched to the backup plan.”

“Which was?”

“Getting to see you somewhere without a bed instead.”

I smirk. “Are you really going to let that stop you?”

He growls as he moves closer. My breath catches at the predatory look in his eye. The playfulness is gone, replaced with a look so intense, so starved, that I actually shiver.

I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands are wrapped around my waist and he’s moving me so I’m standing in front of him. My body obeys, like it’s turned over all control.

Maybe it has.

I’m turned and sat in front of him on the ledge of the picnic table. His legs are on either side of mine, my back against his chest. His lips are against my ear, whispering something I can’t hear over the anticipation of what he’s about to do.

He reclines back just a touch and I lean along with him. His hands find the sides of my thighs, squeezing them. I shiver mercilessly, every synapse firing all at once as he broaches the waistband of my sweatpants. His hands are flat against my skin, not missing an inch of contact on their down my stomach.

I feel his cock harden against my back. I want to reach behind me and cup it in my hand, massage it through the fabric of his pants, but that would require more coordination than I’m capable of right now. His right hand finds the lace of my panties. One long finger runs from the underside of the wet panel to the top near my belly button.

“God,” I gasp, prepared to beg for more. Mentally berating myself for not just letting him come to my house, I try to keep my breathing even. “Landry?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Make me come.”

“Fuck,” he groans, the reverberation of his torso just making me wetter. His fingers slide beneath the edge of my panties, this time dipping into the seam and sliding from my clit down to my ass. “I was right.”

“About what?” I grimace, raising my hips to try to initiate more contact.

“You want me as bad as I want you.”

“You think?” I try not to get exasperated, but it’s so hard with his finger slipping up and down my slit, his cock pressing against me. When he chuckles at my response, the urge to get annoyed gets heavier. “If you can’t do the job, I can do it myself.”

I almost don’t get the words out before his finger sinks into my body, making me cry out. “Ah!” I moan, bucking against his hand.

“Shh,” he whispers, pressing kisses along the side of my face. “Be quiet.”

“I don’t care,” I cry.

“I can tell,” he chuckles again, adding another finger into the mix.

His free hand presses against my belly, holding me firmly against him. My head falls back. My eyes flutter closed as he works his fingers in and out of my opening.

I spread my legs as far as I can, needing, craving, beseeching all the connection he will possibly give me. “Landry,” I moan as the pads of his fingers find my clit. “Fuck.”