Page 42 of X Marks the Stalker
“I calculate the odds of everything,” he says, sounding slightly embarrassed. “It’s how my brain works.”
“And what are the odds of my coming in the next five minutes if you keep talking to me?” I ask, bringing the candy back between my legs, using it to circle my clit again.
His breath catches. “With current variables and stimuli... Shit, that’s hot… Approximately ninety-six point seven percent.”
“I like those odds,” I purr, increasing the pressure against my sensitive flesh. “Let’s test your hypothesis. Tell me what you’re doing right now,” I demand, surprising myself with my boldness.
His sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve caught him off guard.
“I’m touching myself,” he admits, voice tight. “Watching you with that lollipop, tasting yourself. How could I not?”
“Tell me more,” I urge, working the sticky candy against my clit.
“I’m imagining it’s my tongue instead of that candy,” he continues. “I want to taste you, not just watch you taste yourself. I want to see if you taste as sweet as you look.?
His words send electricity through me. I increase the pressure of the lollipop, my breathing becoming ragged.
“Are you close?” His question raises goosebumps on my skin.
“Yes,” I gasp, working the lollipop against my sensitive flesh. “So close.”
“Use your fingers,” he demands. “I want to hear you come while that lollipop is in your mouth.”
I bring the candy back to my lips, sucking it in as my free hand moves between my legs, fingers finding my swollen clit. The dual sensation—the sweetness on my tongue and the building pressure in my core—overwhelms me.
“Are you still touching yourself?” I ask around the lollipop, picturing him looking at me from some hidden location, his hand moving in rhythm with my frantic fingers.
“Yes,” he groans. The sound of his pleasure makes me circle my clit faster. “I’m stroking myself, watching you suck that candy, knowing where it’s been. You’re so fucking hot, Oakley.”
“I want to see you,” I whimper, my fingers working faster.
“Next time,” he promises, voice tight with restraint. “I want to feel you come. I want to see that moment when you lose control.”
I suck harder on the lollipop, my fingers moving in quick, firm circles. My free hand grips my breast, pinching the nipple hard.
“God,” I moan around the candy, my head thrown back, “I’ve never done anything like this. It’s so good.”
“You were made for this,” he pants, his own breathing growing more erratic. “Made to be watched. I’m seeing everyexpression on your face, every drop of sweat on your skin, every time that lollipop disappears between your lips and in that perfect pussy.”
The knowledge that he can see me like this—pleasuring myself while sucking on a lollipop that’s been inside me, completely exposed, pleasure written across my face—pushes me closer to the edge. My movements become erratic, desperate.
“I’m close,” I warn him, pulling the candy from my mouth. “So fucking close.”
“Wait for me,” he grits out. “I want us to finish together.”
I slow my fingers, fighting against my body’s urge to chase release. My legs shake with the effort of holding back.
“Look at the camera,” he commands. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”
I find the camera with my gaze, making direct eye contact with it as I continue to circle my clit in shallow, teasing motions.
“Now,” he groans. “Come for me now, Oakley.”
His permission breaks the dam. I press against my clit as pleasure crashes through me in waves. I keep my eyes locked on the camera, letting him see every moment of my release. The lollipop falls from my lips as I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice tight with restraint. “Let me see everything.”
The first wave of pleasure crests and breaks, but instead of subsiding, it builds again, higher and sharper. I slide two fingers inside myself, feeling my inner walls pulse and clench.
