Page 53 of Pitcher Perfect
Damn, he was learning some invaluable lessons about her this morning. A treasure trove of Skylar-isms that he would put to incredible use, if and when he was afforded the opportunity. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess... the girl always seems to be faking it, but the guy... when he groans, he seems to be authentically enjoying himself. It’s hot.”
Robbie’s chest was heaving like he’d just swum the Potomac. “You wouldn’t be fake moaning with me. I’d probably have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet.”
A shuddering breath from Skylar.
Fuck it.
She’d given him this opening. He wasn’t going to pass it up.
“Do you want to watch me fuck myself, Skylar?”
An audible swallow. “Yeah. Yes, please.”
Oh my God.“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”
Actually, that might physically kill him. Messing up the bond they were building.
“I’m sur—”
“Great. Good.” He turned, his knees almost losing power at the way her attention zeroed in on his cock, her eyelids sagging, fingers digging into the bedding. And when he sat down on the left edge of the mattress, leaned back onto his left elbow, took out his dick in his right fist, and settled it against his abdomen, her mouth formed an O that did remarkable things for his ego. “I’m going to spit on my hand now.”
She nodded, cheeks bloomed with pink spots.
Robbie spat in his palm.
Before he could bring the natural lubricant where it needed to go, Skylar snagged his wrist, brought his hand to her mouth... and spit in his palm. All while looking him in the eye.
Coming without touching himself became a very distinct possibility in that moment.
“Christ,” he said hoarsely, fisting his cock before he could humiliate himself. One slide of his clenched fingers was like throwing a match into a puddle of kerosene, though, and he just went for broke, groaning behind his gritted teeth, watching her face while he masturbated. “You like having your spit on my dick, baby?”
Son of a bitch, she was mesmerized. “Yes.”
“Ohhh. Fuck.” He pumped his fist faster. “No one’s ever watched me do this before.”
“Really?” Her smile was drowsy, horny. “I’m the first?”
First girl he could fall in love with, too.
Don’t say that out loud.
Don’t even think it. So dangerous.
“What are you fantasizing about?” she asked. Closer than before? Was that her breath on his shoulder? Lord. “While you do it.”
“I don’t have to fantasize about anything,” he said in stops and starts, the pleasure beginning to hit an overwhelming high. “Not when you’re lying there with no bra. Your fucking thighs...”
She shifted the legs in question, rasping them on the sheets. “My thighs?”
Too close now. Filter gone. “I’m thinking of my spit all over them. How I’ll lick it on there to help my hips slide when I’m riding you into the goddamn ground.”
A hitched moan from Skylar was the absolute end of him. Hisballs tightened, wrenching a groan from the pit of his stomach, and he got off in his frenzied hand, his thighs jerking against the edge of the mattress, his head tipped back, mouth wide, while he captured as much moisture as possible in his moving fist, the rest of it seeping out around his knuckles. During what he thought was that final wave of pleasure, he looked over at Skylar’s perked-up nipples and blew another hard rope, then another, his whole body collapsing back onto the bed, gasping for fucking air.
Whoa.
Whoa, what the hell?
