Page 184 of Distant Shores
Adair’s eyes flared at the response, turning molten as he punched his hips forward. That moan I’d held back finally escaped me, and something snapped in his gaze before he proceeded to dry hump me into oblivion.
“Dry” being a very loose term.
“Ah,” he cried out, the punch of his hips keeping a steady rhythm as I threw my head back and arched against him, nothing but pure instinct driving my body.
Adair dropped my leg to rest against his for a split second before the fabric of my underwear abruptlyshifted.I gasped, lifting my head to look down again, my mouth going slack when I saw the front of my panties fisted in his hand. His veins flexed as he pulled them taut, rubbing the material against my clit.
I looked back at him with wide eyes, and he just smiled back, a husky, euphoric laugh escaping his lips as he started moving again, punching his hips forward before retreating.
His pace was maddening, intense, brutal, but… in rhythm.
“Ohfuck,” I choked out, pushing back onto him when I realized what he was doing.
Adair Jacks was dry humping me in time to a Mahler symphony.
My panties rubbed against my clit with each of his strokes, and now that I’d acknowledged the music, it was all I could hear besides our panting breaths. The theme changed, and Adair’s bicep flexed again under my head as his right hand smoothed across my chest, gripping my breast firmly, as if anchoring himself to me.
Then he started to thrust harder.
I arched again, turning my face to bury my moan in his bicep.
His hips stuttered, and he gasped, swiveling them several times before he pulled my panties against my clit harder and pinched my nipple.
I convulsed as the strings grew thicker, louder, biting into his arm as sparks sizzled across my skin. As I came, my muscles froze and then constricted, pulling tight before wetness gushed out of me, soaking through our underwear. A strangled noise tore from Adair as he pumped his hips into me one more time, his release joining mine as he let out a drawn-out moan into my hair.
Time suspended for several seconds before he slumped, relaxing back into the bed. His thumb rubbed absent minded circles around my nipple, making me twitch with each aftershock.
I felt his smile against my temple before he kissed me there sweetly, then slowly extricated himself from my body.
I turned my head toward him, watching as he carefully shimmied his ruined boxers off, his dick still half hard.
That’s what finally brought my arms back to life.
As I extended my arm toward him, a bass line from the piano came to the forefront of the music, and I remembered decade-old choreography as I reached for him. I was eighteen, performing my senior recital. I ran my fingerdown his stomach, smearing his cum. Adair’s lips parted as he watched me, but I was only half conscious of what I was doing as I felt his release and sank into the memory.
A bright stage. Velvet curtains.
Choreography that was languid, romantic.
The ensemble piece that slowly became a solo by the end.
A spotlight that faded. Faceless members of the audience.
Bringing my finger to my mouth, I licked his flavor from my skin. Slowly. Thoroughly.
The only thoughts my brain supplied were:You will remember this. How much you love this.
He reached down and fisted his dick, sliding his release up and down his length as he trailed his gaze over me as if looking for where to explore next.
I was interested to know too.
He looked at me and then the bed with calculation before he released himself and ducked down to kiss me.
“Just feel, Indigo,” he whispered against my lips, pushing his hands under my crumpled shirt and lifting it off my head. “I’ve still got you.”
I closed my eyes, sinking into him, the music, and merged the faded memories of this song with these new ones.
Adair kissed my breasts in turn, the attention feeling almost reverent, before his fingertips traced down my side, sending goose bumps all over. Then his warm hand encircled my ankle while his other grasped my hip.
