Page 98 of Rare Blend
I work on her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping faster than she can loosen my belt. I need to know how wet she is. I need tofeelhow wet she is.
My fingers slip into her pants, yanking aside her panties.
I sink in one finger.
So wet.
Two fingers.
So tight.
Her back arches.
Fuck, she’s soaked.
My fingers curl. The sounds of her soaking pussy encourage me to go faster.
She squirms and wiggles and sighs and moans. I eat up every sound and stroke my thumb against her clit.
“Oh, God!” Marisa’s hips jerk. A cry leaves her lips as I push in deeper, knuckles deep inside her perfect fucking pussy.
Her nails dig into my back, painfully, and I love it. I love being the reason she’s unraveling, rolling her hips as I finger-fuck her into oblivion. She’s writhing, moving uninhibited.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur. Hooking my fingers further, I hit just the right spot. Her hips buck, and I hold her firmly around the waist, not letting her body jerk away from her building orgasm.
“Come for me. Come all over my fingers. Drench them, baby.”
She tenses and her pussy spasms, gripping my fingers like a vise. Her moans and sighs are a sweet melody to my ears.
As she comes down, I remove my fingers, unable to resist the urge to taste her on them. I’ve regretted missing out on it when we were in the truck and promised myself not to make that mistake again. She tastes like sin. Like a sweet fruit I’d gladly let be my downfall. I knew she would smell good, and I knew she would taste good, but I wasn’t quite expecting for my brain to be screamingminethe moment I got to actually do it. But fuck, does she taste like mine and smell like mine. She’s fucking mine. Now that I’ve had her like this, I can’t return to the man I was. I can’t return to whatwewere before we burned every line we’d ever drawn.
She goes languid in my arms, and fuck, I can’t decide which I like better. Giving her orgasms, or having the privilege to hold her afterward.
“How are you so good at that?” She moans lazily, her cheek pressed against my chest. “Actually, never mind. Don’t answer that.”
I rub up and down her back and toy with the ends of her hair. “A man knows how to work what’s his.”
She stiffens, and I worry I went too far. If only she could read my mind, she’d know my feelings for her are way past casual. She’s given me this part of herself. Her body. But I want so much more than that, and I’m not sure we’ll ever be on the same page. So I’ll happily accept the physical in hopes that she’ll get there. But I won’t hold my breath.
The tension in her body releases and she relaxes against me again. I can barely make out her eyes, but I’m positive they roll.
“I’d have a witty retort, but you’ve rendered my brain useless.”
I chuckle, giving her neck a nuzzle. “If my fingers did that, imagine what my co?—”
Her hand grips me over my pants, giving my cock a firm stroke, and it twitches so hard I’m surprised my zipper doesn’t bust. Quickly, I take her hand in mine and pull it away from my painfully hard dick.
“I want to touch you,” she protests. “It only seems fair.”
Snorting, I shake my head. “We’re not keeping score. You don’t owe me a hand job.”
“It’s not about keeping score. I want you to feel good, too.” She pauses a beat and places a soft kiss on my neck. “And who said anything about a hand job? I want you in my mouth.”
Jesus Christ.
I’m not strong enough.
“You’re killing me,” I grit.
