Right (Wrong 2)

I moan into the kiss, my arms resting on his shoulders and my hands promptly finding their way into his hair. The pads of my fingertips dig into his scalp, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

He pulls back, and I catch his lip with my teeth, tugging softly for a moment before releasing him. His chest is heaving and his pants are already tight over his erection.

“This,” he says, fingering the delicate strap on my shoulder that holds up the flimsy bodysuit. “You should wear this every day.”

“I bought it for you.”

“I approve,” he murmurs, sliding one strap over my shoulder and following the path with his fingertips down my arm.

It makes me wet, just his damn fingertips running down my forearm. Okay, who am I kidding? My body is in a constant state of readiness whenever he’s in the room. But then he touches me and I’m soaked.

“Buy it in every color. Wear it every day.” He nudges the second strap down my opposite shoulder and the top half of the bodysuit falls to my waist. “Just not right now.”

He runs his hands around my hips and smooths the scrap of fabric down my thighs until it’s nothing but a pool of lace around my ankles.

I yank his unbuttoned shirt from his pants, pushing it back over his shoulders and down his arms, leaning forward and licking his nipple as I do. My tongue makes a wide, flat sweep across his skin and he grunts, flinging the shirt clear of his arms then grabbing a fistful of my hair to drag my lips back to his mouth.

He picks me up, my knees wrapping around his waist, and places me on the bed, following me down, our lips still connected until I’m horizontal, then he pulls away.

He stands up, taking me in lying naked on his bed, dragging his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. And Lord help me, that’s a move I love too. He’s not even touching me when he does it, yet my pussy clenches as if his hands are on me. Every time.

He glances at the camera then back at me as he undoes his pants. His dick springs out, directly in line with the camera, and I’m already looking forward to watching that on playback. Repeatedly. He fists himself, pumping his erection, and my mouth waters. Is that normal? I can’t help it—when he plays with himself right in front of me, saliva pools on my tongue and I have this urge to take him in my mouth.

I watch him for another moment, the muscles on his arm flexing as he strokes himself, then I flip my legs underneath me and kneel, wrapping my hand over his to still him, and circle my lips around the head.

Our hands are still wrapped together on his shaft as I flick my eyes upward to meet his. I alternate between swirling my tongue around the tip and sucking, my cheeks indenting with the suction, my eyes never leaving his.

I like the way his chest rises and his breathing hitches. I like viewing him from this angle. I like knowing that this powerful, beautiful man is thinking about nothing else in the world right now besides me.

He shifts his hand out from under mine and grips my hair, guiding me to take more of him. I glide my hand along his shaft, past the amount I can take in my mouth, and work him, my tongue and hand laboring in harmony together.

I squeeze my hand around him, stroking back and forth, and use my thumb to rotate small massaging circles on the underside of his cock where the skin meets his scrotum. I continue working him, bobbing up and down on him, my tongue and lips and fingers working together until he’s spilling down my throat, his eyes on mine until the last moment when the pleasure becomes too great and his head tilts back, breaking our eye contact.

I pull back slowly, dragging my tongue across his cock from mid shaft to tip as I slide it from my mouth with a pop. I sit up on my knees, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, kissing his chest before he lays me on the bed, legs spread wide. He follows me down, his lips wrangling with mine before making a slow trail to his destination.