Page 92 of Mess With Me

Her expression is a contortion of desire. My cock throbs painfully.

“You want me to make you come?” I ask as I draw my other hand up her wet thigh, slipping two fingers inside her.

“Yes,” she gasps. Her pussy squeezes hard against me, and I have to fight not to growl like an animal.

I stroke my tongue against her clit again, tugging at her G-spot at the same time.

She makes a guttural sound, her hands slapping low against the wall behind her.

I stroke again.

Then pull away. “No.”

She looks aghast. “No?”

A flare of heat runs through me—it could be the last dredges of my anger at myself for succumbing to this when I swore I wouldn’t, or it could just be how badly I need her. But part of needing to see her come is needing to see how far I can hold her over the edge, on the brink, before the only thing she feels is the blinding need for release.

Plus, I’m feeling more than a little deliciously petty about this particular thing.

“I’m going to tease you like you teased me, Sasha. Make you feel just a taste of the torture I’ve felt.”

Her jaw hangs open, but she laughs. She knows what she did. She fucking loved it.

So did I, though I’m not about to tell her that.

I suction my mouth around her clit again, tugging with my lips and stroking with my tongue in a coordinated movement until her breathing goes ragged and choked, her fingertips scraping against my scalp. “Griffin, whatisthat? I didn’t know I could…feel…”

She’s losing words. Her breaths take on a tone that’s creeping higher and higher, and I know I’ve got her on the very edge of the precipice. Just as she makes the sound I know means she’s about to fall, I pull my mouth away.

Sasha cries out, gripping my head in her hands. “No! Please.”

I stand up. “Impossible, isn’t it? To get that close and not be able to do anything about it?”

“You asshole,” she says, slapping a wet hand against my shoulder.

Then her arms are hooked around my neck and she’s tugging me to her. Our lips crash together brutally, our tongues ravenous. If the last kiss tried to tear me apart, this one nearly destroys me. The sensation of having her like this, her breasts slick and wet against my chest, my fingers still inside of her—I know my aching cock is dripping with its own wetness under my soaked clothes. It doesn’t matter. All I want is to see her lose it.

I tug her toward me with my fingers inside her, firm but gentle, needing to regain some semblance of control.

She breaks the kiss, letting out that guttural sound again. On the next breath, she says, “I could come like this, you know.”

“I won’t let you.”

“So, what, you’re just going to stop touching me?”

I curve my fingers inside her, putting variable pressure on the sensitive flesh inside. Press.Release.Press.Release.

She’s breathing hard, her eyes desperate on mine.

“Remember when we were swimming, Sasha? When you took your top off and I knew these gorgeous tits were out there just out of my line of sight?”

I take one of her breasts in my hand now, clenching my jaw to hide my pleasure at the feel of its perfect weight in my hand. I lean into her, nipping at her ear. “I was jealous of the fucking trees, Sasha. Of the wind. Jealous of nature getting to see you when I couldn’t.”

I run kisses down her throat, all the way down her chest until I’m close enough to take the pink peak of her breast in my mouth.

“You could have,” she breathes as I fuck her pussy with my fingers in perfect cadence with my tongue on her nipple. She’s getting close again, I can tell, even without me touching her clit.

“You could have fucked me then, Griffin. I would have let you. God, I”—she gasps as I sink my teeth onto her nipple—“I would have begged for it if you’d told me there was a chance.”

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