“No feelings.” I was hornier than a dog in heat, so I would have said about anything at that moment. But I also knew he would change me in ways I’d never felt or experienced before. “Oh, and Dillon? Since we’re being open about things, I like my men raw and rough. So don’t be gentle.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at how his face lit up as if it were Christmas morning and the biggest box under the tree had his name on it.
In one fluid movement, he hauled me to my feet and over to the pinball machine that I’d barely noticed when I came in. He twirled me around then anchored himself against the monstrous toy. “Strip for me.”
My belly did a loopty-loop at his command and another one when I eyed the massive bulge in his jeans.
Stepping away from him, I watched him watch me. His expression was blank, but I knew something primal lived beneath his surface. His biceps flexed as he shoved his hands in his pockets as though he was going to play with himself.
I was soaked to my core and getting wetter if that were possible as I took off my scarf. I’d never stripped for any man, but with Dillon, my inhibitions were gone, left at the door.
I grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted the fabric slowly, my eyes glued to Dillon as his tongue toyed with his lip ring. I lifted my shirt over my head, lingering for one second and pushing out my breasts before I discarded the fabric.
Where it went, I didn’t care. I cupped my breasts then shaped my waist before teasingly dipping my fingers into my capris.
He removed one hand from his pocket and gripped his cock through his jeans. An intimate thread weaved between us, defying the roughness I’d asked for. My pulse sped up at the carnal knowledge of how the hunger, raw, strong, and powerful, oozed off him.
The expression on his face said, “you’re beautiful, stunning, and sexy,” and for that, I shimmied out of my capris.
His chest was moving up and down while he gnawed his lip. I wanted to be that lip.
When I was standing in nothing but my thong and bra, he groaned, squeezing his erection.
I licked my lip, debating whether I should make the first move or let him. I decided it would be more fun to watch the beautiful disaster that was etched on his face. I got the impression he wanted to pounce and feast on me. I certainly wanted him to rub his hands, his tongue, his lips, and his body all over me. I wanted him to claim me as his own. Why hadn’t he thrown me to the floor or bent me over the pinball machine? He was leading me to believe he was all about the foreplay, the anticipation. I couldn’t blame him.
Foreplay was the prelude to a dance that was brightened with stars, soaked in sweat, and blanketed in kisses. I wasn’t a romantic, but I would be for him.
I reached behind me and unclasped my bra. I slipped one strap off then the other before the fabric floated to the carpet. I wasn’t modest. I loved my body, as every woman should, flaws and all. I wasn’t rail thin or model skinny. I was pillowy in all the right places, and I was proud to say I wore a size twelve.
Dillon groaned as he unbuckled his jeans.
At that moment, if he didn’t do something to me, I was going to start playing with myself. I wanted to approach him, undress him, and do things to him that I’d envisioned doing while using my vibrator. But again, if he wanted me, then I wanted him to show me. I didn’t want to guess by witnessing the size of his erection.
He raked his gaze over my breasts, unzipping his jeans. His hand disappeared into his briefs. He closed his eyes briefly before those hooded peepers opened.
I took one step then another toward him with my hand inside my thong, and my breasts on display to admire, touch, and nibble.
He shook his head. “Take your hand out. Play with your breasts.”
I did as I was told only because he asked in a tone that said he would die if I didn’t.
He shucked his jeans and briefs, watching me play with and pinch my nipples. Soon, he was full-on naked, and his cock was standing erect. And boy, it was a cock that I could write a full-page story about. It was thick, long, and big, and every ounce of willpower I had was about to combust into an orgasm without anyone touching my sex.
He reached out and grabbed hold of my thong. I went to him on wobbly knees. The need to fuck him was beyond painful. I was beginning to understand what men meant by blue balls.
“Please, Dillon,” I whined. I sounded pathetic but didn’t give a crap. I needed his cock inside me, and I needed to feel the stretch and the friction. I needed my breasts to bounce and for him to play, suck, lick, and slap if that was his thing. It certainly was mine.
I got my wish when he spun me around and guided me to bend over the pinball machine. My vision colored with greens, browns, blues, and reds from the scenery below the glass. My heated skin cooled as my stomach touched the metal of the machine. The mere idea of him taking me from behind sent erratic pulses to my swollen clit.
I swore one touch from him would make me scream to the high heavens.
He ripped off my thong, and I giggled.
Then his cock grazed my butt as he rubbed his hands up and down my back. I pushed back against him, wanting to feel him inside me. I tossed a look over my shoulder, my cheeks as hot as a bonfire on a cold night.
One of his hands pressed into my back, while the other careened down in between my ass checks. I moaned as his fingers found my center.
His expression was more painful than before. “Holy fuck. You’re soaked, baby,” he said, deep and husky, as he began to rub circles around my clit. Then his other hand disappeared from my back, and before I knew what was happening, two of his fingers were inside me.
