“Not really up for conversation?” I asked breathlessly.
“I am,” he whispered against my neck.
His hot, wet tongue for only the briefest of moments.
“But first, I want to fuck you like I’ve been daydreaming about all day.”
I swear to God, my pussy flexed like he was speaking directly to it.
His fingers clenched, gathering my skirt up with them until his glorious hands were on me.
First, he found my piercing and stroked it, circling with no hurry at all, teasing me. Then lower, dragging the pad of his finger up the line at my center, so slow, so light that he had my hips shifting, my core aching.
I whimpered, and his finger clenched at the sound.
“Don’t tease me,” I begged. “Fuck me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Penny,” he said calmly and quietly and with authority I hadn’t realized I’d granted. “I’m going to.”
My brain had already exploded, and my awareness was focused on every place we touched, so when he disappeared for a second, the loss was a cold shock against my hot skin. But then he grabbed my hand, pulling me over to the couch. When he sat, he pulled me down to sit next to him, my heart pounding as I tried to kiss him. He had other plans, stopping me by cupping my cheek. His thumb slipped into my mouth, and I closed my lips over it, telling him with my eyes that I wished something else were in its place entirely.
“Lie down,” he ordered gruffly, guiding me to stretch across his lap with my ass up and my knees and elbows on the couch.
His cock was rock hard against the space between my belly button and clit, and I found myself wriggling against him, shifting slowly, my pulse frantic. I felt crazy. He was actually driving me mad, and he’d barely even touched me.
Dicknotized. If I were a cartoon, my eyes would be pinwheels with dicks in the middle, spinning around and around.
I was already panting, partly because I had no idea what he was going to do to me.
Where are his hands? Why aren’t they on me? Why aren’t they in me? I need them to touch me.
Part of me just wanted him to flip me over and fuck me senseless. The rest of me wanted him to tease me forever.
I looked back at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were on my ass — my skirt didn’t fully cover it, lying down like I was.
“Cross your ankles.” His hand found my ass cheek and squeezed, kneading it as his thumb slid under the hem of my skirt.
I did as I had been told, my heart hammering.
His hands were reverent as they lifted up my skirt, flipping it so my entire backside was on display. His face was reverent too, as if he’d found some secret of the universe under my skirt.
Bodie grabbed my ass again, groaning softly, his cock flexing under me. His thumb slipped between my ass and gripped, spreading me open, and I arched, lifting it into the air.
“That’s right,” he breathed, voice deep. “Open up for me.” His hands moved — one kept me exposed, the other explored.
First were his fingers running down the line and to my clit for a split second of glorious pressure before trailing back up. Then down they went with more pressure as he passed through the slickness of my core, wetting his fingers even more. The third time, his fingers nestled between the length of my lips, the tips capturing the ball of my piercing, and my hips bucked in answer. When he shifted them laterally, the sensation across the entire length of me coupled with my piercing circling my clit was too much.
I gasped, heart slamming, nails scrabbling for purchase against the leather couch cushion, my face buried between my clenching hands.
“Please,” I groaned. “Fuck, Bodie. Please. Please.”
He said nothing, and I couldn’t look, not with starbursts flashing behind my pinched lids.
I felt his wet fingers move up and then his thumb, now somehow wet too.
It was so slick, so smooth, that it didn’t even give me pause when he circled the tight hole I rarely let anyone near.
His thumb gently ran across me, his fingers stroking my pussy at the same speed, same pace, the pressure increasing until he flexed his fingers and slid into me, both holes at once.
I raised off his lap, my mouth hanging open, my breath frozen in my lungs, but he didn’t stop. He stroked me, played my body, pushed every button, even buttons I hadn’t known I had. His fingers performed some exquisite gymnastics that I’d be thinking about for a decade, though in the moment I didn’t care how he was doing it, only that he didn’t stop. Ever. His pinkie rocked against my clit as the rest of his hand fucked me with tender determination.