Page 61 of Sin Bin
Seconds later, he has me pressed up against our bedroom door, his hands in my hair as he holds my face still.
“Have I told you yet today how fucking beautiful you are?” he asks, voicing the words because his hands are otherwise occupied.
There’s no way I’m not blushing. I’m wearing leggingsand an oversized, open-stitch sweater. It’s a step up from the hoodies I like to wear, but I’m hardly looking like a model or anything.
Ollie extinguishes my doubts when he presses his lips to mine. The way this man kisses should be illegal. He does it like he does everything—full throttle. He’s thorough as hell in the way his fingers grip my neck, the way he gently bites at my lip before diving in and consuming me. His body is leaning into mine and his heat surrounds me. We’re both fully clothed, and we need to fix that, fast.
Peeling his lips away for just a moment, Ollie looks me in the eye. “I want you,” he says. He could dress it up with pretty words, and he often does, but that’s unnecessary. I can feel his already hard length pressing against me. I can see the desire building in his eyes.
“I’m all yours,” I answer, absolute truth in every word.
His eyes shutter closed, and he takes in a breath before wrapping his hands around my waist and lifting me up.
I’m average height, but I’m not a tiny girl. I’m not the kind who gets hoisted in the air or tossed over a guy's shoulder. I have to admit, though, that there are distinct advantages to dating someone with muscles like Ollie’s. “What are you doing?” I squeal.
Ollie doesn’t answer me until he’s laid me gently on the bed. “You’re gonna want to be comfortable for what I have in mind, Fallon. I’m planning to worship every inch of you, and I’m going to take my sweet time doing it. Does that work for you?”
I bite my lip and clench my thighs. “Mmhmm. I like this plan.”
“Good. But I obviously owe you a fuck against the door. You can cash that one in any time you like.”
26
Ollie
The heat in Fallon’s eyes when I tell her I owe her a fuck against our bedroom door has my blood rushing south. Who am I kidding? It’s a damn miracle I’m still standing upright because every brain cell and blood cell I have is devoted to the sole purpose of bringing Fallon as much pleasure as humanly possible right now.
The way she stood up for me in front of my dad is something I can't even begin to process right now, especially when my girl starts removing her clothes.
Sweet. Fucking. Hell. Her tits are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She tossed her massive sweater and tiny tank top somewhere near the closet, leaving her in just her bra and leggings. Damn. I’m about to suggest that we make that the mandatory dress code until she hooks her thumbs into her waistband and begins tugging her leggings off. The thin scrap of lace that covers her pussy is absolutely soaked, and when I reach up to help her peel her clothes the rest of the way off, I can’t resist breathing in the scent of her. It’s intoxicating.
“I'm not so sure this is fair,” she pouts, motioning her hand between us to illustrate the fact that she’s completely naked and I’m fully clothed.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got something to keep you busy while I get naked,” I promise.
She frowns again, and it’s fucking adorable. “I thought you were going to do a strip-tease for me, like you do for all those fans of yours.”
Fuck. Me. “Are you one of them?” I pant, voicing the question that’s been on my mind since I found out she was aware of my account.
Fallon shakes her head, her blonde hair rustling across the pillow. “I was so tempted, but it felt like an invasion of privacy.” She bites her lip and when she opens her mouth again, I’m stunned at what she says.
“I have a confession to make,” she tells me as I root through the night stand drawer for what I need.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What’s that?”
She props herself up on her elbows, putting her naked tits on full display.
“I watched you. Not on MyFans. In person. A couple of weeks ago, the day you shared your grilled cheese, you left your earbuds downstairs. I ran up to give them to you. Your door was cracked. And you were lying on the bed.”
Fallon’s breathing has gone ragged. Her eyes are wide. I bet if I pressed my lips to her pulse point, I’d find it racing.
“What was I doing?”
“Recording yourself.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask.
“Mmhmmm,” she answers. “You weren’t wearing a shirt. You were stroking yourself, and?—”
