Jules closed one hand over mine where it was pressed against his stomach. He pushed down on it, silently begging me to touch him.
“You want my hand while I fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to get you off while I fuck you like the little slut you are?”
“Please!”
“Fucking hell,” I snarled in his ear. “You’re such a slut for it.”
“Only for you.”
I lost my rhythm, stuttered, then regained my composure.
Had he meant that? Was he only like this for me?
Did I want it to be true?
Yes, I absolutely fucking did.
“Like this?” I sped up my hips, dropped my hand, and cupped his nuts.
“More!”
“Like this?” I circled the base of his cock and squeezed.
“More, Ash,” he begged, pushing back against my hips as I drove into him. “Please.”
“Fuck yourself on my cock.”
“What?” he spluttered.
I stopped moving, my hand still around his base, while I gripped his hip with the other so hard I was probably going to leave bruises.
Good.
I wanted him to remember me, remember this, when he looked in the mirror.
I wanted him to remember what a slut he was, how I’d taken him apart and made him beg for it.
Shoving those thoughts out of my head, I eased my grip on his hips until I was lightly circling them.
“Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself come.”
“Ash,” he huffed.
“We’re doing this my way or not at all, kitten. Your choice.”
“Fuck, I hate you.”
“Mutual.” I gritted my teeth as he squeezed around my cock.
With a disgruntled cry, Jules shifted back, fucking himself on my cock with shallow thrusts.
“How does that feel, slut?”
“So good.” He grunted, driving his hips back with more force, going faster, harder.