Page 45 of Wait With Me
My dick is getting angrier by the second, so I decide right then and there we’re through with the dry humping session for this evening. “I want you naked and in a bed,now.”
Her blue eyes pop open, pupils dilated and hair a wild mess as she drops her hands to my chest. “Very articulate,” she says with a smirk and looks over her shoulder for a second. “But we’re going upstairs. I want to christen that new bedding, and I can’t think of a better time to do it.”
With a half-smile, I help her off my lap and stare at her ass the entire walk upstairs. My dick is a fucking smashed-up mess in my jeans, and I cannot wait to let it free inside her.
When we step into the upstairs bedroom, I’m surprised at the transformation. On the right is a white desk with a gray tufted chair that looks really fucking comfortable. Her laptop rests closed on top of the desk. There’s no clutter on it. No life. It was clearly set up and left completely unused thus far.
In the middle of the room is a giant king-size bed. Bigger than the one she has downstairs. Since I’m a big dude, this pleases me greatly. It’s covered in a gray linen duvet with some colorful accent pillows strewn all over it. Overhead is a modern chandelier that Mercedes has dimmed, setting the mood for further “research.”
Craving more, I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her to me for a kiss. She presses against my chest, pushing me backward until the back of my legs hit the bed, and I’m forced to sit. “Research first,” she chastises like I’m some naughty schoolboy.
“You really are a workaholic,” I tease.
“You really are a sex fiend,” she teases back and moves away from me so she’s standing all alone on the hardwood floor, fully out of my reach. “So let’s start with something easy. What runs through your mind when I do this?”
She twirls in her bare feet, her dress fanning out all around her so high, I get a glimpse of her white thong and bare ass cheeks.
She stops, and I lift my brows. “You want the honest truth?”
“Of course,” she replies, her brows furrowing like she’s preparing to take mental notes.
“Honestly, because I am the way I am, all I thought about was the fact that I hope you never wear that dress in public again.”
“What? Why?” She looks down at it accusingly
“Because when you did that, I saw everything. So either you can’t wear that dress, or you need to wear big ole granny panties underneath. Or better yet, a pair of my basketball shorts.”
She laughs at that idea. “Good God, you are too much. Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.”
Her response has my face tightening slightly, but I hide my reaction and repeat, “Good thing.”
“Okay, let’s try something a little harder. What are you thinking when I do this?” She bends over and peels her little white thong off, the one that I saw so perfectly only seconds ago. She stands back up and flings it over her shoulder.
“I’m thinking lots of things,” I reply, running my hands down my denim-clad thighs. It’s painful to be this far away from her right now, and I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.
“Okay, like what exactly?” She gestures for me to elaborate.
I clear my throat, my eyes raking over her like a prize meant to be claimed. “I’m thinking about the fact that I can tell by the dampness on the front of my jeans that you are wet already. In fact, you’ve probably been wet all night. Same way that I was half hard just driving out here. So because you were so wet all evening, that means there’s nothing to stop that moisture from running down your thighs.”
She sucks in a big gulp of air, as if she forgot to breathe for a second. “And what would happen if you saw some of that wetness run down my thighs?”
I pin her with a wicked glare. “I’d have to lick it off you with my tongue, of course.”
“Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she sings, her voice a mix of crying, moaning, and begging.
Unable to stay away a moment longer, I stand and take three long strides to tower over her. She’s barefoot and completely naked under this dress—it’s a fucking miracle I lasted this long.
I run my fingers down the sides of her arms and feel goose bumps erupt all along her skin. Lowering one of my hands past her fingertips, I touch the skirt of her dress, steal underneath the fabric, and find her smooth center with my fingers.
“Just as I suspected,” I husk as my digits swipe along her folds. “Fucking soaking wet.”
“Yes,” she moans, one hand reaching out and clutching my bicep for support. When I sink one long finger into her heat, her other hand flies out to catch herself on my chest. “Oh my God.”
“Let me take care of this,” I husk against her ear as I remove my hand from between her legs.
I turn her in my arms and walk her back to the bed. She lies back, her head hitting the pillow, her red hair fanning out wildly. The bed dips as I press a knee between her legs and slowly push her dress up and spread her thighs apart.
I glance down at her needy center, practically quivering for more. I hit her with one last, smoldering glance before lowering myself and dipping my nose between her folds.
