Page 28 of Stitch
“You joked about a buttsex one, but there actually aren’t any sex ones on your list. Do you mind if I ask why?”
Jesus, I thought she might miss that fact, but I guess that was wishful thinking, especially since she had plenty of filthy ones on hers.
“I’m sure there are. I definitely want to do the video sex thing, didn’t I put that?” I was stalling and we both knew it.
“Is… is there something about me that doesn’t interest you, or is it-”
I slammed my lips against hers again, and kissed her hard, dragging her hips against the bulge in my jeans. Surely to fuck she couldn’t miss how much I wanted her.
“Okay… so it’s not that, then why? Do you think it’s not what I want? Because, and I can’t put this too strongly, I really fucking want that. I want you. I want to take you upstairs right now, and have you do wicked things to me, probably while you’re saying equally wicked things, because you, sir, have a very filthy mouth.” Well, didn’t that make me feel like a fucking king?
“I definitely want you, Camille, like you wouldn’t fucking believe. I’ve been hard since… hell… since I first saw you and tongue-fucked your mouth in the hallway. I wanted to get my tongue down between your legs and see if I could make you scream so high you break glass.”
She squirmed in my lap.
“Then why the hell don’t you? I’m putting myself on a fucking platter for you! I’m doing the thing we girls aren’t supposed to do, and I’m making it clear I want your cock, so why are you making me wait?”
I shifted her out of my lap, and stood up, adjusting my jeans before my cock died of fucking constriction.
“I… fucking hell… can you just ask me an easier question? Something about bikes, I can tell you a fuckload about bikes.” She stood up and followed me as I tried pacing out my frustration, my despair.
“Camille, please.”
“Why won’t you call me Cammy? Everyone calls me Cammy.”
“It’s not classy enough for you. You’re all elegance, and fucking sophistication, so why the hell would you shorten such a fitting name?”
Cammy
How can he saythings like that to me, while denying me, when we clearly both want each other? I raised my eyebrows at him, and undid my light robe, dropping it on the floor. Underneath I wore a skimpy vest, and shorts. Both clung to me because they were barely more than silk draped over my curves, and also because it was a warm night, and he had me even more overheated than the summer weather.
He made a choked noise, and backed up a step. “Fucking hell, Camille, you’re stunning. And you’re too good for me. I’m just a no-good biker asshole with a fucking axe hanging over his head. You don’t want me.”
“I do. I want you, Stitch, and I want you right now. I’m wet, and horny, and it’s because of you. Who you are, and how you smell, and the way you kissed me. The way you dragged me over your hard dick, so we could both feel how much you wanted me, even as you tried to deny it.”
He turned and leaned his arm against the wall, lowering his head against it with several quiet thuds.
“Please don’t do this, Camille, please.” His voice had reduced to a whisper. I didn’t understand why he could talk about living for now, and yet not take what was right in front of him. I removed the vest and shorts, and stood naked and waiting for him.
“Stitch? Are you turned off by the way I look?” He let out a curse and spun on his heel to argue, and instead his mouth dropped open and he blinked at me.
“You’re a fucking devil woman, you know that, right? I wish I could give you what you want, what we both want, but I’m just not… not able.”
Oh. I glanced at the bulge at the front of his jeans.
“You look able.”
He reacheddown and tried rearranging himself down there, and then he grimaced, and his face paled slightly. Suddenly I understood. Suddenly, I figured out what was wrong. Whatever was wrong with him, whatever illness he had… it wasn’t in another part of his body. It was there. It was… it was in his pants.
“Is it… Stitch, when you said you were ill… did you mean cancer?”
His face fell, and he slumped slightly, but his head finally moved. A nod. Oh god, I mean, it had to be, right? What else would have him knowing he was dying, but still be fit and well right now?
“And it’s there?” His eyes finally met mine again.
“I’m not… whole… anymore. I’m defective.”
Fucking idiot. I threw myself at him again, which I was starting to realise was going to be a thing for me. I kissed his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, his neck, and as I rained kisses on him, and his arm came around my back to rest just above my ass, I sneaked a hand down to his jeans.
