His eyes are open, watching me touch him. “Please, Naomi. Don’t stop. It feels so fucking good, honey.”
“It does?”
“God yes.”
Another journey of the length of him. “Like this?”
“Fuck—fuck, yes. Just like that.” He tilts his hips as I bring my touch down to the root of him and back up.
“I like this,” I whisper. “I like touching you. I like how you feel in my hand.”
He moans, a quiet noise in the back of his throat. “Naomi, god. Fuck. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” I whisper. “I won’t stop. I promise.”
I have to kiss him. Have to. I wriggle closer, smashing my breasts against his chest, angling my sex against his thigh, pressing against him, needing friction and finding it, shameless grinding against his hard thigh. I kiss his jaw, tasting stubble and skin, and then another spot on his jaw. Again, and again. Now his cheek, just under his cheekbone. He lets out a sound that’s nearly a whimper, as if he’s undone.
“Naomi,” he breathes, as if breathless.
I stroke his length, feeling bolder now that I’m kissing his handsome, rugged face. I find a rhythm, and I feel his hips begin to match that rhythm.
I can’t stop kissing his face as I touch him. I kiss the corner of his mouth, his upper lip, the corner of his eye. His temple. His earlobe. God, he tastes good. Clean and male. I feel him push into my touch, bucking helplessly.
“Fuck, Naomi. You undo me.”
“Show me how to make it feel even better.”
He grunts unintelligibly as I continue to caress him slowly. “Play…play with my balls,” he mutters.
The next time my touch travels down to the root of his manhood, I gingerly, carefully cup the heavy taut sack. He moans, loudly. I explore them, the feel of them in my hand—soft, delicate almost.
“Oh god, yes,” he breathes.
He wraps his hand around mine again and guides my hand up his shaft, showing me how to twist at the top, and another twist on the way down, with a soft massage of his balls before stroking back up.
He lets go of my hand, cupping my backside, holding me against him. Encouraging me to grind my sex against him.
“I’m close, honey,” he growls. “Can you come with me?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Touch yourself.”
I’m on my side, angled against him, one arm trapped beneath me; he lifts me so I’m straddling his thigh, bent over him, my breasts aching as they hang heavily to drape against his belly. I caress and stroke his beautiful manhood, and I hesitantly bring my other hand to my sex.
“Touch your clit, Naomi. Ride my leg.”
“I…I’ve never touched myself there before,” I whisper.
“I know. It’s okay.” I feel his eyes on me, and I open mine and meet his. “It’s beautiful, honey.You’rebeautiful. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life, baby. I wanna watch you come above me. Ride me, show me how you can fuck, baby.”
So dirty, so sinful…so perfect.
His hands glide up my thighs and over my waist and cup my breasts, and my nipples bead under his hands. He pinches them, and I gasp, my sex spasming. The boiling heat is back, centered in my sex. I bring my fingers to my…he called it a clit. My ignorance of my own anatomy is embarrassing, but I wasn’t taught such things.
He’s teaching me.
I touch my pussy. My clit. And god, it feels good. It feels good to think dirty, sinful, erotic words. It feels good to touch him. To be touched. I love the way his big strong hard rough hands feel as they cup and knead and caress my aching breasts.
