“What about this?” I ask, sliding a third finger into her slowly.
She gasps again in shock. I sit back slightly so I can watch her face, watching for that ecstatic place between pleasure and pain, knowing from the wild, desperate look on her face that I’ve found it.
Her eyes lock on mine, pleading, and I know then that I need to make her come. I need to make her come harder than she’s ever come before.
I hold her gaze as my thumb finds her clit. I press into her, making only one small tight circle around the nub before she goes over the edge with a scream that tears right through me.
I swear softly as her body milks my fingers, her back arching so high I think she’s going to buck me off.
I’ve never made a girl come this hard using just my fingers. Hell, I’ve never been so close to coming without even touching my cock.
I try to tell myself that she’s just a hot piece of ass out for a good time, but the possessive feeling in my gut hasn’t eased up.
If anything, I feel more possessive, even more pissed that after she leaves here, she’ll find some other guy to finger her to ecstasy.
I am in so much trouble.
I wait until she stops shuddering before I withdraw, but the second her eyes open and her wet pussy quits convulsing around my fingers, I slide my hand away from her, unabashedly wiping my hands on my jeans.
“How was it?” I ask, my voice a little harsh. I mean it to be.
She looks startled when I sit up, moving away from her.
“Yesterday you wanted to know where your kissing skills rank,” I say softly. “I want to know how my fingering skills stack up. Better or worse than that pretty boy pop singer?”
Jenny’s lips part—in shock? hurt? anger? I don’t know, and I don’t care, I just know that I need to keep this girl the hell away from me before I lose my damn mind.
She props herself up on her elbows, her breasts straining against the fabric of her tank top, and making me realize that I haven’t even seen her tits yet.
Incredibly, my cock hardens even further, and I push off the bed before I reach for her.
“Don’t worry about it, babe,” I say, adjusting my erection as I stand. “Your tight little snatch told me exactly how much you liked that.”
“Get out,” she whispers. “Get out.”
Yup. That seems about right.
I deserve nothing less than a slap right now, and I’m well aware of it. Still, instead of apologizing, I turn and walk out.
As I do, I realize that I just experienced the most intense sexual experience of my life and didn’t even come.
Hell, I didn’t even take my fucking boots off.
I take the stairs two at a time, hating myself, hating her for making me feel out of control.
I barely make it in the door of my temporary home before I’ve got my hand wrapped around my cock, jacking off to the memory of her hot panting and soft cries. I imagine that it’s her hand touching me. Her mouth.
I come with a ferocious roar that nearly splits me in two.
And as I try to catch my breath, my hand still on my softening dick, my face buried in my elbow, I try and figure out how the hell I’m supposed to face her tomorrow.
Jenny
Are you feeling bad for me?
Don’t.
Here’s a not-so-well-kept secret about singer-songwriters.