Page 121 of Hexed
“I’ve dreamed about touching you,” I murmur.
She moans, pressing against me further. Blood rushes to my dick, and it pulses against her, and fuck, I wish I could just slip her dress up to her thighs and sink so deep inside her that I forget the world, but I won’t.
Not like this.
This isn’t about me; this is about whatsheneeds, and I don’t know what pushed her to this point, but I know that if this is my only chance to be with Venesa, then I’m going to make her remember it.
I want her to feel cherished. Taken care of.
Even if it’s just this once.
And if I ever get the chance to be with her fully? I don’t want it to be in her uncle’s bathroom at my engagement party to another woman. Besides, if I give in and give her a quick fuck here, I know she’ll compartmentalize our entire encounter, making it seem like less than what it actually is.
Because what itisis fucking everything.
I groan as I manipulate her flesh, digging into her breasts and ghosting over where I know her nipples are hiding beneath her dress.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I whisper in her ear.
Her body stiffens, but I slip my hand over the top of her cleavage and finger the neckline of her dress, dipping belowthe fabric until I slip underneath completely and I’m groping nothing but flesh.
My eyes roll back at the feel of her, skin to skin, and when she makes a mewling noise and moves on me like I’m not giving her enough, I thrust my hips forward, starting a slow, torturous friction against the curve of her ass.
She’s plastered to the wall, and I reach one of my hands up and intertwine our fingers, putting them on her chest and then moving us down her body together. Slowly, torturously.
My other hand leaves her tit and slides her dress up her thigh until the material is bunched around her waist, and I’m so fucking turned on, I might explode without her eventouchingme.
And I’m not touching her either.
Not really. Not the way I want.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I repeat. “Because when I do, I’m going to take my time, cherishing every single inch of you, drinking up your cries and drowning in your moans. Tell me you understand.”
She sucks in a breath and nods, her face turning until her cheek is pressed against the wall. “I understand.”
“Such a perfect girl,” I murmur against her skin.
Our entwined hands move beneath the bunched-up fabric, and arousal makes precum drip from the tip of my dick when I feel the heat of her cunt through our fingers. She’s not wearing any underwear.
“Show me how you make yourself come,” I demand, biting my cheek so I don’t fuck this up and make this end too soon.
“Enzo,” she pleads.
The way she says my name makes me fucking crazy, and I groan, my left hand fisting the fabric at her hip.
“Show me,” I tell her. “So when I’m alone, late at night, I can close my eyes and picture it. Knowing you’re lying somewhere, touching yourself and thinking of me.”
“I need you to fuck me.”
“You need me to take care of you,” I correct. “To put you first. I won’t let you turn this into a one-night stand. Not when it’s more, and you know it. Now, take your hand, play with that pretty little pussy, and make yourself come.”
My breath hitches when she starts a slow motion with her palm, my hand moving on top of hers from the way we’re intertwined, and I swear to God it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
She moans when she moves us farther down, wetness dripping as she teases her entrance with our fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Give it to me,” I urge.
Her head flies back and lands on my shoulder, and I plaster myself to her, my forearm locking across her stomach, my fingers twitching with the need to take over completely. To show her what it feels like when I draw out her orgasm on my own.
