Beautiful Bombshell
Page 5
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Chloe climbed over me, straddling my thighs. “Take off my panties.”
I pulled at the delicate tie at each hip, and slowly dragged them away from her body, tossing them to the side somewhere.
“Now. Put the back of your hand on your thigh and hold up however many fingers you want me to f**k,” she whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
She laughed, sucking on her lip before enunciating very slowly, “Put the back of your hand on your thigh, and hold up however many fingers you want me to f**k.”
Was she serious with this shit? Without taking my eyes off of hers, I slid my hand to my leg, turned it palm up, and offered up my middle finger. “Here you go.”
She looked down and giggled. “That’s a good one, but maybe at least one more. I do need a closer approximation of your cock.”
“You’re really only going to f**k my fingers? My dick is pretty much ready to go, and you can’t pretend that isn’t the preferable option for everyone involved.”
“You were going to get a lap dance from a Vegas showgirl,” she countered, brow raised. “Your dick wasn’t even interested five minutes ago.”
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, extending three fingers.
“So generous,” she whispered, lifting her hips and gliding her sex across my rigid fingertips. “You’ll make a pretty stellar husband if you keep this sort of thing up.”
“Chlo . . .” I groaned, opening my eyes to watch her as she slowly lowered herself over my fingers. She was already wet, and I stared down at her, naked but for her skimpy bra, her smooth thighs spread over the dark fabric of my pants.
She wrapped her hands around my neck and began to move over me, lifting her body and circling her hips as she came down, rubbing her clit against the heel of my hand. Again, and again, and again. I thrust up beneath her, needing friction. I could taste her scent in the air, could hear every one of her tight little sounds. Between her br**sts, sweat caused her skin to glisten. No way would I admit right now how much I loved watching her use my body to find her own pleasure.
“You’re a f**king tease,” I growled, relishing the dip and swell from the weight of her arms braced on my shoulders. The sight of her was doing savage things to my body, and I was pretty sure I could get off if she just lowered herself a bit more, rubbed her thigh against my clothed cock. “I’m going to walk out of here still hard and smelling like pu**y.”
Circling her hips, she whispered, “Don’t care.”
And yet, at the sound of my voice, I’d noticed the tight press of her ni**les inside her little bra. She knew how hard I was, and she cared greatly.
Chloe gasped as I curled my fingers and moved my other hand to slide over her backside and guide her hips. I pressed my thumb across her clit, feeling myself come undone just watching her. Around my fingers, her body rippled, tensing in anticipation. Even in a strange room with God-knows-what going on around us, I could make her come in minutes. She was such a f**king tangle of contradictions: generous and teasing, earnest and coy. “You f**king wreck me, Chlo.”
“Can you tell I’m close?” Our eyes never broke contact, and I slid my hand up her side, tracing the frame of her ribs with my fingertips.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Does that still make you wild? Knowing how fast you can do this to me?”
I nodded, and my hand slid higher, to her shoulder, her neck. My fingers flexed against her jugular, itching to feel the race of her pulse when she came. “I love knowing no one else could make you this wet.”
Her brown sugar eyes darkened, grew heavy with desire. “I need you to want me every second,” she whispered, breathless. “You’re the only one I’d ever let own me like this.”
The word—own—triggered a spark in my chest, a wild-ness I couldn’t hold back anymore. Her lips were so close to mine and the taste of cinnamon on her breath, the foreign perfume . . . the reality of how far she’d gone to fool me poured fuel on the flame and I lurched forward, disintegrating; my kiss was sharp and punishing, starving for the feel and taste of her.
She pulled back only far enough to gasp, “Do you want to hear me?”
“I want the entire club to hear you.”
Her hands sank into the hair at the nape of my neck and her hips faltered, trapping my fingers deep inside her as she rocked wildly over my palm.
“Oh God . . .” Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, she arched away and I bent to her neck, sucking, biting, owning her f**king heartbeat.
I felt the hammering of her pulse against my lips, felt each one of her exhales as she gasped, tensing above me and around me as she came. With a hoarse cry, she said my name and her voice sent a vibration across my tongue, pressed to her throat.
I pulled at the delicate tie at each hip, and slowly dragged them away from her body, tossing them to the side somewhere.
“Now. Put the back of your hand on your thigh and hold up however many fingers you want me to f**k,” she whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
She laughed, sucking on her lip before enunciating very slowly, “Put the back of your hand on your thigh, and hold up however many fingers you want me to f**k.”
Was she serious with this shit? Without taking my eyes off of hers, I slid my hand to my leg, turned it palm up, and offered up my middle finger. “Here you go.”
She looked down and giggled. “That’s a good one, but maybe at least one more. I do need a closer approximation of your cock.”
“You’re really only going to f**k my fingers? My dick is pretty much ready to go, and you can’t pretend that isn’t the preferable option for everyone involved.”
“You were going to get a lap dance from a Vegas showgirl,” she countered, brow raised. “Your dick wasn’t even interested five minutes ago.”
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, extending three fingers.
“So generous,” she whispered, lifting her hips and gliding her sex across my rigid fingertips. “You’ll make a pretty stellar husband if you keep this sort of thing up.”
“Chlo . . .” I groaned, opening my eyes to watch her as she slowly lowered herself over my fingers. She was already wet, and I stared down at her, naked but for her skimpy bra, her smooth thighs spread over the dark fabric of my pants.
She wrapped her hands around my neck and began to move over me, lifting her body and circling her hips as she came down, rubbing her clit against the heel of my hand. Again, and again, and again. I thrust up beneath her, needing friction. I could taste her scent in the air, could hear every one of her tight little sounds. Between her br**sts, sweat caused her skin to glisten. No way would I admit right now how much I loved watching her use my body to find her own pleasure.
“You’re a f**king tease,” I growled, relishing the dip and swell from the weight of her arms braced on my shoulders. The sight of her was doing savage things to my body, and I was pretty sure I could get off if she just lowered herself a bit more, rubbed her thigh against my clothed cock. “I’m going to walk out of here still hard and smelling like pu**y.”
Circling her hips, she whispered, “Don’t care.”
And yet, at the sound of my voice, I’d noticed the tight press of her ni**les inside her little bra. She knew how hard I was, and she cared greatly.
Chloe gasped as I curled my fingers and moved my other hand to slide over her backside and guide her hips. I pressed my thumb across her clit, feeling myself come undone just watching her. Around my fingers, her body rippled, tensing in anticipation. Even in a strange room with God-knows-what going on around us, I could make her come in minutes. She was such a f**king tangle of contradictions: generous and teasing, earnest and coy. “You f**king wreck me, Chlo.”
“Can you tell I’m close?” Our eyes never broke contact, and I slid my hand up her side, tracing the frame of her ribs with my fingertips.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Does that still make you wild? Knowing how fast you can do this to me?”
I nodded, and my hand slid higher, to her shoulder, her neck. My fingers flexed against her jugular, itching to feel the race of her pulse when she came. “I love knowing no one else could make you this wet.”
Her brown sugar eyes darkened, grew heavy with desire. “I need you to want me every second,” she whispered, breathless. “You’re the only one I’d ever let own me like this.”
The word—own—triggered a spark in my chest, a wild-ness I couldn’t hold back anymore. Her lips were so close to mine and the taste of cinnamon on her breath, the foreign perfume . . . the reality of how far she’d gone to fool me poured fuel on the flame and I lurched forward, disintegrating; my kiss was sharp and punishing, starving for the feel and taste of her.
She pulled back only far enough to gasp, “Do you want to hear me?”
“I want the entire club to hear you.”
Her hands sank into the hair at the nape of my neck and her hips faltered, trapping my fingers deep inside her as she rocked wildly over my palm.
“Oh God . . .” Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, she arched away and I bent to her neck, sucking, biting, owning her f**king heartbeat.
I felt the hammering of her pulse against my lips, felt each one of her exhales as she gasped, tensing above me and around me as she came. With a hoarse cry, she said my name and her voice sent a vibration across my tongue, pressed to her throat.
