I shake my head. “I’m not tired at all.”
“Good. Because I plan to wear us both out.”
JT’s definitely a man of action, because after that pronouncement, he turns and lowers me to the mattress, his hands on my waist as he slides me toward the center before crawling in to join me.
We have no blankets or sheets, and the only pillows to speak of are the scratchy cushions that match the couch. But I don’t care, and clearly, neither does JT. Gripping my ankles, he bends my legs at the knee and presses my heels back so they’re nearly touching my ass. Instinctively, my legs fall to either side. That’s all the invitation JT needs before he moves to the juncture of my thighs.
“I’m gonna kiss you, Maggie. Right here between your legs, and here,” he says, tapping my sensitive clit. “I’m gonna eat you out like it’s all I’ve been dreaming of for weeks.”
His words ignite a flood of heat and I hear him curse again. “You been thinking about it, too?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. I’ve never been this wet in my life. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. Never been this needy, either. Hungry for more contact, I lift my hips as he lowers his head and buries his face between my legs. His kisses are languid and through, like he’s got a roadmap to orgasm number three and he’s going to enjoy the ride, maybe even take the scenic route. His confidence drives me a little crazy, but I have no complaints. He can take the leisurely path because I know he won’t get lost or distracted or bored along the way. JT has a singular focus, and right now, I’m it. Well, at least my pleasure is.
“So fucking pretty,” he praises, coming up for air as he slips two fingers into my channel. My only answer is to thread my fingers through his hair, just as I fantasized about earlier tonight.
“Oh, hell, that’s good,” he croons as my fingers massage his scalp, gently pushing his face right back where I want it.
He wants it, too because his mouth consumes me. My body should be oversensitive. I should be overstimulated. I’m not, though. I’m blissed out as he fucks into me with his tongue. I’m delirious with pleasure as his fingers find my sweetest spot and hit it again and again. I’m on the edge and it feels so good. My vision blurs and I know that floaty feeling is just seconds away.
And that’s when he retreats.
JT pulls away from me, leaning back and bracing his hands behind him on the mattress. His lips are wet with my desire, his eyes heavy, his cheeks flushed, his breathing labored.
He says nothing to me, just licks his lips and looks his fill at my naked body. I want to scream at him, to shake my head, to ask if this is some kind of fucked up joke. But it isn’t, that much is clear. JT’s not done with me yet.
Lifting his left hand to his face, he scratches absently at the days’ worth of stubble before letting his hand drift down his body to rest at the base of his cock.
“Do you think about me, too, Maggie?” he asks, stroking his length, and I know exactly what he means. He’s not asking if I daydream about having his babies or if I doodle his name—his initials, really— in the margin of my notebook during class like an infatuated middle-schooler.
He wants to know if I touch myself to thoughts of him. If I try to put my fingers where his have been. If I try to replicate the pressure and the rhythm and the pace. If I rock onto my own hand the way I rocked on to his.
There’s no embarrassment here, no judgment. I’m not afraid he’s going to laugh at me or look at me like I’m some freak.
So I nod, telling him the truth.
“Thank fuck,” he says, choking the base of his cock withhis fist. “I only got a taste of you, and it wasn’t enough. I fuck my fist to thoughts of you more often than I should admit,” he says, rubbing the swollen head of his cock with his thumb.
I’m entranced. I can’t look away. The scene in front of me is erotic. It will play out in my head tomorrow morning in the shower. I can guarantee I’ll come at least once while thoughts of JT jacking himself run on a loop through my head.
But that’s tomorrow, and right now, I want the real thing.
I’m not sure if I say the words aloud or if we’re just on the same wavelength, or if my neediness is written all over my face.
He reaches for his jeans and curses, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Now is not the time to tease him about the look of abject panic that crossed his face when he realized he didn’t have a condom.
“There’s a hidden drawer. In the coffee table,” I begin, but the man must have some sort of second sense about birth control because he finds Viv and Lynley’s stash with ease and rolls a condom on a few seconds later. Lining himself up at my entrance, he meets my eyes.
“Is this what you want, Maggie?”
“So much,” I answer.
“You want my cock? You want me to fill you up? To fuck this sweet pussy the way I’ve been dreaming about?”
“Yes,” I cry as he thrusts inside me. We lose ourselves in the rhythm and this time, we don’t have to hide, not really. He’s driving into me, his thick cock hitting that spot deep inside while his fingers find my clit.
I’m early there. I’m teetering on the edge, and if he pulls back now, I might cry. But instead of leaving, he leans in close and kisses me. “You want it, Maggie?”
I nod because every brain cell in my head is focused on the orgasm that’s so damn close.
“I want it, too,” he says. “I want to feel you let go. I want to hear you cry out. I want to come right after you do.”
