Emerson is as turned on as I am. Even through layers of clothes, I can confidently declare her pussy is hot and wet, and her moans…fuck. They have me on the cusp of release.
I hump her leg shamelessly, my focus on the fold at the side of her knee and how it sucks at my dick like her pussy would if I’d answer a single plea of the millions flooding my head.
We dry hump each other for the next several minutes, and then we surrender to a sensation greater than the lies attempting to pull us under.
Emerson comes with a moan, her entire body shuddering.
A few mewls escape her, but she tries to muffle them with pressed-together lips and furled brows.
Her efforts to act unaffected by the strength of the waves pummeling into her are stellar, but one name still seeps through the crack of her barely parted lips.
She whispers my name, and its husky delivery sets me off.
I come hard, the throbs of my cock as frantic as the grunts that flare my nostrils. Blood rushes to my ears as years of pent-up frustration expel me in thick, raring spurts.
My release takes forever to surrender its clutch on my senses, only ending when the throb of its aftershock matches the bobs of Emerson’s throat as she struggles to pretend she is still asleep.
Chapter 17
Emerson
As the tingling of my orgasm fades, embarrassment surfaces. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I rode Mikhail’s thigh to climax, and now I am pretending to be asleep.
The start of our exchange and who made the first move are unclear to me, but I know who finished it.
Mikhail is a sex god. He knows exactly what to say and do to swoon you out of your panties, so to hear he was on the verge of coming in his pants from doing something as minute as a PG grind-up was addictive.
It brought me out of my slumbering state, where I was having the best dream of my life, and had me determined to make it a reality.
The results were better than I could have ever imagined, and it is taking everything I have not to pop my eyes open and marvel at the goodness of Mikhail’s post-orgasmic expression.
Is sweat clinging to his top lip? Are the roots of his sex-mused hair damp? Or does he look like a train wreck like I did whenever we messed the sheets?
I’ll never know because I’m not skilled enough to pretend I didn’t love everything we just did if I were to open my eyes.
I can’t let Mikhail know how fast he’s skating back under my skin, or he’ll eat me alive.
Just the way my body is responding to his leg still being wedged between my thighs announces this without prejudice. The coolness against my throbbing clit confirms a large wet patch has formed on the front of my sleeping shorts.
Still, shame doesn’t encroach on me.
The soft material caressing my knee feels just as damp. It proves Mikhail crossed the finish line seconds after me, and the knowledge is thrilling.
“Let me get something to clean you up,” Mikhail murmurs a second before the mattress springs creak, protesting to his shuffle as ruefully as my still-aching clit does.
Even with early-morning sunlight streaming through the window of the owner’s suite, I imagine Mikhail’s steps instead of tracing them.
I plan to work the “I was asleep” ruse to my grave.
Blaming a sleep-deprived head for my actions is better than acknowledging how much my body still craves this man. His smell alone is enough to trickle desire through my veins, so the flutter of his pulse against a sensitive region of my body will always instigate disaster.
When a faucet turning on sounds from the direction of the bathroom, I pop open my eyes. I’m alone, but the thundering of my pulse assures me it won’t be for long.
My first thought is to run like I did last night when the tension became too much. I would if my legs were up for another hundred laps. They’re too shaky for that. I doubt I could stand right now, let alone walk.
My climax wasn’t the longest I’ve had, but it was the most powerful. I couldn’t stop coming, and my throat is raw from thenumber of screams I had to hold back when Mikhail’s grunts during his release doubled their strength.
As I wait for Mikhail to return from the bathroom, aftercare clearly still a priority for him, my racing heart slows. It beats in a similar rhythm to the throbs of my clit, and it has me confident I’ll make a mistake I can’t take back if I don’t close my eyes right now.
