Page 78 of Top Shelf
“Shut up,” she sasses, but again, there’s no malice in her voice—only pleasure.
As if on cue, her eyes roll back, her lids fluttering closed.
“Keep them open,” I tell her. “Keep your eyes on me, love.”
She snaps her attention to me, her bottom lip so tight between her teeth I worry she might actually break skin as she rides my fingers. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before, and I’m not sure ifit’s because of how close we are to getting caught right now or if it’s simply her. My guess is the latter.
She rocks her hips, searching for more, and I know she’s close. I also know just what she needs to get there. I settle my palm against her clit, the touch just enough to free her lip, her mouth now dropped open in a silent gasp.
“That’s it, Nessa,” I whisper. “Let me feel your pussy squeeze me. Come all over my fingers. Make a mess—I promise to lick it off.”
My words set her off, her tight cunt pulsing around me, and it’s nearly enough to make me come right in my own pants. I don’t, though. I just finger-fuck her through her own release, watching how her pupils grow to twice their size. Her eyes glaze over with lust, and she’s lost in a haze as she comes and comes. I don’t think she’s ever orgasmed this long before, and I wonder if she’s enjoying our public spot as much as I am.
Her body relaxes as her shakes subside and she falls back to the flats of her feet, finally pulling her nails out of my back. I miss them instantly. Slowly, I pull my fingers from her and bring them to my mouth just as I promised. The taste of her—sweet and a bit spicy—explodes over my tongue, and I feel the precum leak from my tip.
She watches intently as I lick every trace of her off my fingers, then she shocks me by grabbing my face and pressing her lips to mine. She slides her tongue into my mouth like she wants to taste both of us together, and I wish we weren’t at this damn museum. I wish we were back at my place so I could bury my cock inside of her and never leave.
When we break apart, we’re both starved for air, our chests brushing with how hard we’re gasping for it. Still, she smiles against me, and I can’t help but return the expression.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask.
She nods. “Please.”
I take her hand and lead her away, and it’s the first time I’ve truly realized just how screwed I am when it comes to her.
“Wait, never?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, never.”
“How is that even possible?”
“Uh, did you forget I’m not from Seattle?”
“No, I know that. I’m not either, but it was still one of the first things I ate when I moved here.”
“Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but nobody handed me a Seattle dog when I stepped off the plane.”
“They should. I’m pretty sure that’s what they do in New York with pizza.”
I don’t miss how her cheeks redden at the mention of New York. I’m sure it takes her right back to that night, just like it does me.
“Come on,” I tell her, nodding across the street. “We’re fixing this travesty.”
We approach the vendor, and I order us two Seattle-style hot dogs. We find a decent spot to eat them, and I watch as Nessa takes her first bite of the cream cheese-coated bun and onion-and-jalapeno-topped meat. She looks skeptical at first—and who wouldn’t be?—then when the deliciousness of it all hits her, she groans happily.
“Oh god, that’s good.” She covers her mouth when she says it. “Holy crap.”
“See? I told you.” I take a big bite of my own meal, chew, and swallow. “I was right.”
She rolls her eyes, going in for another mouthful. We finish off our dinner, then toss our trash into a can. It’s late. We’vebeen out and about all day, soaking up as much November as we can before the rain inevitably settles in and drenches us all. After the art museum, we walked around Pike Place Market, then hopped across the street to the aquarium. Introducing her to Seattle dogs was my last stop, and I can tell they’ll be hers too. Now that she’s got some food in her, she’s ready for bed. Her eyes are getting heavy, and her strides are getting shorter.
“Come on.” I flick my chin in the general direction of where we parked my car hours ago. The fee is going to be astronomical, but it’s worth it for her. “Let’s go home.”
“Home.” She smiles softly. “I like the sound of that.”
I don’t ask if she likes it because it implies that it’sourhome, or if she’s just desperate for sleep at this point. We walk through the streets, our hands brushing every few steps. A simple graze of our hands, that’s all it is, but it’s enough to make my body start to tingle with want.
“Speaking of home…” she asks once we hit the garage. “Anything new on my bed?”
