“I’ve had too much whiskey,” he murmurs.
“For what?” I ask, suddenly alarmed.
Eli laughs.
“For kissing you like this,” he says, his other hand sliding down my arm, taking me by the wrist. “For all this sweet foreplay bullshit where we kiss like we’re lovers and not like we’re trying to destroy each other.”
He plants my hand on his cock. It feels like steel beneath denim, and reflexively, I grab it through his jeans.
“Don’t worry, Violet, I’m not too drunk to fuck,” he rasps, right into my ear.
I slide my hand along his thick length. I’m already wet as fuck and getting wetter by the second.
“Is this too much sweet foreplay bullshit?” I ask, the heel of my hand on his cock.
“You could do better,” he growls.
I kiss his neck, then bite it. He’s smoky from the grill, his skin salty beneath that, and I yank his pants unbuttoned, shove my hand inside without even unzipping him.
He groans when I find his cock, hard and hot and thick in my hand.
“Still too sweet?”
“You’re getting there,” he says, and pulls my shirt off. My bra follows and then I reel backwards, onto the couch, where I fall, his zipper now undone as he leans over me and pumps himself into my grip.
Eli kisses me hard. He pinches my nipples until I moan into his mouth, pushes my knees apart, kneels on the edge of the couch.
I squeeze him harder, faster. Precum runs down his shaft now as he unbuttons and unzips me and I arch my back, our mouths still together roughly, his hand under my panties.
There’s no teasing. Eli slides two fingers into me and I moan, biting his lip. His other hand pinches a nipple, my hips rising off the couch until I’m gasping and moaning in the same breath.
He thrusts forward, his cock moving smoothly through my hand, its tip almost at my chest. His fingers move inside me and I grip him tighter.
“You don’t even need foreplay,” he growls. “All I had to do was say let’s fuck in the barn and you’re soaking wet.”
“I’ve also had plenty of whiskey,” I remind him.
His fingers move again, crooking, stroking my sensitive inner wall, the heel of his hand against my clit.
“That’s not the whiskey,” he says, that cocky smile on his face. “That’s the promise of getting bent over this couch with my cock buried in you.”
He kisses me again, hard and rough, his hand still moving inside me while I moan into his mouth.
“Told you I was drunk,” he murmurs. “There I go, telling you all my plans.”
I pump his cock again. Eli groans.
“Tell me your other plans,” I say.
“You want me to talk dirty to you, Violet?”
“I want to know what I’m in for,” I gasp.
He shifts. I stroke his cock, and he slides a third finger into me. I whimper with pleasure.
“I’m going to take you right to the edge and then I’m going to stop,” he murmurs. “I’m going to get those pants off of you, flip you over, and lick your pussy while you scream into the couch cushions so no one outside can hear you.”
Heat pools inside me, desire and pressure swirling. I tremble with every motion of his fingers, my whole body tense and taut, ready to explode.
“What else?” I whisper.
“Then I’m going to fuck you as hard and deep as I possibly can,” he says.
Every inch of my skin tingles.
“And when you’re finally begging me to make you come, maybe I’ll let you,” he goes on.
There’s that half-hitched smile, the cocky one, the I’m-in-control-here smile that drives me crazy in every single way.
“Maybe,” he says.
I draw his head down to mine, kiss him again, hard and slow as his fingers move inside me. I roll my hips, still stroking his length.
“You want me to beg?” I murmur into his mouth.
“I want you to at least say please,” he murmurs back.
I bite his lip, sitting forward. Eli growls in response, his fingers sliding out of me.
Then I lean forward and wrap my lips around the thick head of his cock.
“Oh fuck,” Eli hisses.
I grab his hips, dig my fingers in, slide my lips down until I can’t take any more of him. He grunts as he bumps the back of my throat and I flatten my tongue against the smooth underside of his cock.
I move my head back. I go slow, teasing him, listening to his breathing quicken. His fingers work their way through my hair again, the ridge of his head under my lips as I swirl my tongue around him.
He groans. I suck him in again, my hand wrapped around his root. Before I know it I’m off the couch, on my knees in front of him, sucking his cock as hard as I can.
Eli’s fist closes in my hair. He pushes my head down on his shaft, until he hits the back of my throat. I swallow, my tongue moving against him. We do it again and again. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the pleasure of listening to him.