Page 66 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Yes, ma’am.” He reaches over his shoulder and grabs a fistful of T-shirt with one hand and pulls it over his head. It’s both oddly sexy and infuriating. Because really, that’s a prime way to stretch out a shirt. And yet he looks so hot doing it.
“Mmmm.” I lick my lips at the six-pack he revealed. “Is it just me or do you look more ripped than usual?”
His eyes shift to the side, and his shoulders jump in a small shrug. “I had to dosomethingwhile you studied this week.”
I swear there’d be a flush on his cheeks if his complexion wasn’t so dark.
“Is that so?” Honestly, I could argue that. I could point out that he was here most of the time this week and that the only time he’d have to work out was either early in the morning before work or late at night when he left my place. Which he must have done, becausedamn, his six-pack is extra cut right now. Especially as he tenses, bracing for my smart mouth to embarrass him.
But why would I embarrass him when I can ride him?
Crossing my arms over my stomach, I grab the hem of my shirt and lift, exposing my new bra. One of the ones that has weird straps crisscrossed over the top of your breasts while leaving the nipples exposed. It does fuck-all for support.
But I didn’t wear it for support; I wore it for effect.
“Dear God…” Vance’s eyes glaze over in some sort of sex trance.
Mission accomplished.
Reaching my hands under the soft billows of my skirt, I undo his jeans. When his cock springs free, I moan at the soft skin pulled tight over his erection as I pump him up and down.
“Fuck. Wait. My back pocket.” He grabs my forearms like he’s going to stop me but doesn’t do anything else, enjoying my handiwork.
I shake one hand off to reach under the couch and pull out a condom.
He chuckles when he sees it, which turns into a groan when I twist my wrist at the top of the next pump.
“Did you plan this?” His breath comes in pants.
“Of course.” I don’t need a mirror to know my smile is evil and satisfied.
Back under the pleated tent of my skirt, I roll the condom on and slide my panties to the side.
“Wait.” Vance’s hands reach for me, getting tangled in the material.
I slap them away. “No more waiting.” I lift on my knees, centering him under me. “This is happeningnow.” I sink down, impaling myself, shuddering with pleasure at the delicious sting and stretch. “Fuck that’s good.”
“So fucking good,” Vance agrees, his eyes and hands on my breasts. He pinches his fingers, tweaking my nipples.
I whimper.
He scoots forward with me on top of him, his dick hitting my cervix and setting off a mini orgasm.
“Holy shit.”
“Wrap your legs around me, baby.”
I do it without thinking, still focusing on the radiating waves of pleasure coming from under my skirt.
Vance’s abs tighten as he crunches closer to me, wrapping his arms up and under mine, his chin near resting on top of my boobs.
“Lotus.” He smiles at me, those eye crinkles of his setting off more fireworks in my downtown. Then what he says registers, and I smile back, remembering my joke about this particular sex position on the day we met at the strip club.
I’d been kidding, having never actually done this before. It’s too slow. Too close. Too intimate a position.
It scares me.
But right now, with Vance, it feels right.
