Reputation (Mason Family 2)

I don’t tell him that was in case Suit came over this weekend. It seems like the best choice at the moment.

He makes quick work out of sheathing himself. I do quick work out of scooting back on the bed.

My breaths are quick and shallow. I can’t stop smiling. Just as I think Coy’s about to climb onto the mattress, hover over me, and punish me for joking around with his cock, he doesn’t.

Instead, the cheeky bastard crawls across the bed and stops at my feet.

I hold out my hands to prompt an explanation.

“Do you know what I think?” he asks, placing his hands on the spots where my legs meet my torso.

“I’m hoping you’re just thinking about getting inside me.”

He grins.

His fingers press into my skin. His palms are heavy, and he shoves me toward the headboard as he stretches out on his stomach on the mattress.

“Coy, for heaven’s sake,” I say, threatening to touch myself again.

My wrist is snapped up by his large hand before I even get close.

“I remember someone telling me how they liked it when I spread them apart with my fingers …”

He runs a finger up my slit before separating my folds. The air is cool against my heated flesh, and I wiggle to try to secure some kind of contact—any contact—before my head explodes.

The bastard positions himself, so there’s no way in the world I can even accidentally brush my bud against his fingers.

I moan, arching my back off the bed.

“I also remember someone saying,” he says, scooping his free hand under my ass and holding it in the air, “that they liked me to lick them.”

I gasp and look down to see his eyes sparkling with humor.

“What?” I ask, pointing toward my very ready and very open vagina. “What’s the hold-up?”

He smirks. “What do you want, Bellamy?”

“What do you mean, ‘What do you want, Bellamy?’?”

“What do you want me to do to you?” His eyes stay glued to mine as he blows a breath across my overstimulated sex. “What do you want me to do to this little pussy?”

I throw my head back to the bed and try not to scream.

The anticipation is killing me.

His touch is destroying my willpower.

His refusal to give me what we both want is driving me insane.

His hand cupping my ass moves so that his thumb presses against the rim.

I yelp, trying to squirm, but he somehow holds me still.

“If you don’t lick me,” I warn him, “I’m going to—oh, my fuck!”

I squeal as his tongue dips into my part and slides up to my clit. He flicks it with just enough force to cause my legs to fall to the sides.

He chuckles against me. Even that is foreplay at this point.

I reach for his head and lace my fingers in his hair.

“Do you like that?” he asks, his words whispers against my overstimulated body.

“Yes,” I moan as I lift my hips to his face.

“Are you going to be nice now?”

“Probably not—fuck you,” I yell as he sucks my clit into his mouth and holds it in place.

A blast of colors spills through my visions as he flicks the trapped clit with his tongue.

“Coy. I can’t …. Yes. Mhm …”

I can’t focus on anything. It’s all too much.

His thumb is pressing harder against my ass. Two fingers are stroking deep inside my pussy with a rhythm that’s almost enough to put me over the edge. His tongue is twirling around my wetness, practically writing the damn alphabet as he works me closer and closer to the brink of an orgasm.

“Look at me,” he says before sucking on me again.

“Ahh …” I open my eyes and look right into his. It’s a simple, unexpected act that delivers an angle I’m unprepared for. “Oh, shit.”

My hips flex, grinding on his face and fingers. He gives in—finally—and works his fingers against the anterior wall of my pussy.

He removes his hand from beneath me and palms one of my breasts. His fingers work my beaded nipple, pinching it until I yell out.

“Coy!”

My body shakes against his fingers, my juices flowing across his face. His eyes hood as he watches me come apart at the seams.

Every muscle in my body flexes. My legs shake. My eyes roll back in my head as he continues to lavish attention on every known erogenous zone on the human body.

Finally, after what feels like a hundred lifetimes, I collapse in a heap of sweaty, sticky, completely satisfied completion.

Coy crawls up the bed and lays by me with a smirk the size of Texas.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” I ask him.

He nods and laughs as he wipes his face off with the edge of my comforter.

“Ew,” I say, smacking his bicep. “Don’t do that!”

“This is the least of your worries.” He drops the blanket. “That wet spot is as big as your smile right now.”