“You’re still too tight, Wildflower.” Darius’s cock is hard as steel; it has been for longer than is comfortable.
But he isn't going to fuck her until she is ready. Until he can only hear her pleasure.
Darius wants more than anything to bring her to the edge over and over again. To memorize every spot that makes Sunday twitch. But right now, he is desperate to make her feel good ontheir terms.To make her come, just for him. Without a crowd watching their every move.
Hooking his fingers further into her, his teeth scrape against her clit.
She offers a soft groan, her legs buckling.
He files away the information, applying more pressure with his mouth, angling his fingers differently.
This time her knees nearly give out, and he reaches behind her, gripping her ass, keeping her up and pressed into him. Her nails dig deeper into his skin in an intoxicating manner as he rhythmically plunges in and out of her.
She begins to tense and tighten around him, and he knows it isn't much longer.
I should just leave her here, dangling on the edge.
But Darius doesn't have it in him, he would much rather watch her come over and over again than withhold it from her.
He lashes out his tongue ring against her clit and growls against it, a mimicry of what he did before.
“Darius!” she lets out a hushed scream as she convulses around his fingers. Tightening and squeezing them in a vice grip.
He imagines his cock in their place. Remembers how he felt buried inside of her. How it was more than he could have dreamed or hoped for.
Fuck.
Sunday’s mewls, the feel of her soft skin, the sight of her supple curves, the memory of being inside of her, it’s nearly enough to push him to his own release.
He's getting off on her pleasure.
He shuts his eyes, focusing on how she continues convulsing as he doesn’t let up on her clit. How her body trusts his implicitly.
Even if it shouldn't.
The thought is jarring. His guilt is a coiled snake deep in his gut. He does not regret his encounter with Sunday, he just wishes…
“Darius.” Soft fingers bury into his wet hair, desperately trying to pull him away.
He whips his attention back to the present. His guilt offers nothing for the beautiful woman before him.
The one who is practically begging. The one who is barely standing. The one who is drenching his fingers.
He unwillingly withdraws from her. He catches her attention as he puts his drenched fingers in his mouth. Cleaning off her essence with his tongue.
Sunday’s eyes widen, her pupils dilating.
Darius's lips curve upwards mischievously. “Free. Use?” He places his hands on her bare waist. His rough fingers at odds with her smooth skin. He strokes her with the pads of his thumbs.
Her breathing turns more erratic as she waits for him.
He leans forward as if to kiss her, but then he lifts her and turns, placing her on the empty counter next to the sink.
“Stay right here,” he commands her.
She puffs her cheeks in an adorable pout, her chest heaving as she comes down from her pleasure. Darius’s attention falls to her full breasts, but he whips his eyes away, he opens the drawer beside her and pulls out a condom.
“Why are those everywhere?” Sunday asks.
