Page 52 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“That girl,” I continue, my voice low and deliberate, “the one who wouldn’t back down—she was something else.” I let the silence stretch, the words hanging between us. “Where’d she go? Did she disappear the moment I got too close?”

Her chest rises and falls with a quick breath, but she stays silent. Her lips are pressed tight, but I can see her struggling, fighting the urge to argue, to snap at me, to push me away. She’s not used to this. Tome. And it’s getting under her skin.

I keep watching her, enjoying the game. The way she tries to hold herself together. She’s unraveling, just a little, and I can feel it.

I tilt my head slightly, my grin widening as I watch her jaw tense even more, her eyes flicking to my lips for a split second before she looks away.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re pissed, Dove. But I can tell you’re still thinking about what happened at the house and how good it felt…” I let the words linger, feeling the moment stretch. “It wasn’t a fluke. You can trust me.”

I lean in closer, my voice lowering to a husky whisper, “I can make you feel even better.”

As I speak, the gap between us closes until I’m right beside her, our legs pressing together. “All you have to do is stop fighting and give in.”

She doesn’t answer, but the shift in her posture tells me everything I need to know. She’s right there. Just a little push, and I’ll have her.

“You know you want to.”

She inhales sharply, her body tensing again as if she’s trying to hold onto whatever bit of control she has left. But I see the way her eyes flicker, the way her breath hitches when I speak. She’s fighting it, but she’s not immune to the pull between us.

Carefully, I let my hand rest on her thigh, right below the hem of her denim skirt. I watch her gulp, a pretty pink blush painting her cheeks, but she doesn’t shift away.

Progress.

“I can feel you, Dove. The way you’re reacting to me. The way your body betrays you, even if you won’t admit it out loud.”

I play with the hem of her skirt, letting my fingers wander over her soft, warm skin. Her blush deepens in response to my wandering.

“Do you think you can keep pretending?” I drawl, almost amused. “That you’re not affected? That you don’t want this as much as I do?”

I lean in closer, and her delicious scent hits me. I stifle a curse. She smells like strawberries and cream, such a mouthwatering combo. It makes me just want to devour her whole.

“But you do want this, don’t you? You want me to make you feel good?” I stroke up her thighs, humming slightly in appreciation as her legs part for me. “It makes you so fucking wet just thinking about it, doesn’t it?”

I feel her shiver beneath my touch as my hand inches higher. Her breath catches, her lips parting just slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “N-no I-I-I don’t.”

“Liar,” I whisper, my hand now resting on her panties. Her soaking wet panties.

Fuck, she is such a dirty liar.

I circle her clit slowly, almost teasingly, watching as the tension in her shoulders eases and her pupils blow out, all the fight leaving her almost as quickly as it came.

She gasps and I smirk. So responsive.

“Now I have to find out if you’ve been lying about other things too,” I croon, drawing light, teasing circles around and around. I hum as she lets out a tiny moan, biting her lip as if to keep it contained.

“Did you play with this little pussy after our little tryst? You must have, after all you were this close to coming before we were interrupted.” I keep moving my fingers, drenching them with her wet pussy. She’s so fucking wet, so fucking warm, so damn tempting. My dick is fucking screaming.

God, this is the sweetest torture.

“Answer me, Dove,” I growl, tracing a more forceful circle around her clit, making her gasp louder, her thighs widening.

“N-no,” she stammers, her response small and unconvincing.

She’s lying again. Seems she’s trying to reserve some ounce of dignity.

That’s cute.

I know everything, watched everything, heard everything. All her desperate moans and whimpers, the almost feverish tempo at which her fingers worked her clit. The way her hips bucked and twitched, her thighs stiffening as she neared orgasm, the enraptured, almost pathetic whimper she let out as she came over and over again.

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