He sucks a nipple into his mouth. My hips thrust to meet him, aching to reach the pinnacle, to grab hold of ultimate pleasure.
“Have you been finger banged in public?”
When I nod, his eyes burn with jealousy. That glint only sends me a little further under his spell.
“I want to see you in my bed. I want to fuck you. I want you to suck me off.” His voice rumbles against my skin, and goose bumps dance over me.
My fingers dig into his arms as he draws circles on my clit, getting closer and closer, and when he finally hits one place, I stiffen. My breath hitches as I come, my core grasping around him. It feels so good, so perfect.
He kisses my cheek. “I want to see your face over candlelight. I want to take you to dinner.”
Oh. I suck in a breath and drop my gaze from his.
He tugs my face and holds my eyes. “If I can’t kiss you, you’re going to look at me when I fuck you.”
I shiver as his fingers delve back inside me.
“We might get caught,” I manage to say.
“Isn’t that part of the fun?”
I hear the clink of glasses downstairs, the low murmur of patrons on the floor below us. “Yes.”
I ease my hands back inside his joggers. He’s long and thick, a slight curve near the tip that I recall always hit the perfect spot when he was inside me. I stroke his mushroom-shaped tip to his root, my fingers brushing over his balls. I find the precum and caress his knob, touching the underside of his tip. His chest expands, his pupils dilating as he moves his hips in sync.
“Talk to me,” he demands. “Secrets.”
“I went to the New York School of the Arts. I woke up wet this morning thinking about you. I woke up wet for weeks after the club. You were the best fuck. I looked for you. I stopped at construction sites. I peered into shop windows.”
He bites his bottom lip, his teeth tugging hard. “Go on.”
“Your dick tastes like salt and sea. I could swallow you in one gulp.”
His lashes flutter. “Let’s forget this place. Come home with me.” His throat bobs. “Now.”
“I wish you could rip my clothes off. I wish you could get on your knees and lick me where I want.”
Sweat mists his face as he leans into me. “My place ...”
I trace the plump outline of his lips. “Here.”
He groans as he tugs my hair and places his lips on my skin. “You’re killing me, Princess.” With a skill that suggests he’s done this a million times, he eases me down, drags my underwear down my legs, and then hoists me back up in his arms and sets me on the ledge. My heart flutters as wetness drips down my legs.
I hear the crinkle of a wrapper; then I watch as he slides the condom on. My arms wrap around his neck as he picks me back up. “Look at me.”
I do, and he thrusts inside of me. My body welcomes his thick girth like a lost lover, warm and willing.
His hands cup my ass as he swivels his hips and sets a slow, methodical pace.
I moan from deep in my throat, trying to suppress the guttural sound. I’ve been with lots of men, but he’s a master at fucking.
My back pushes against the cold glass of the window, and I wonder if anyone on the street sees us. If someone comes around the corner, they’ll see me with my shirt and skirt in disarray, my legs tangled around his, the pump of his naked ass. I don’t care right now if they do—my brain is lost, my body is lost, all is lost. Just this. Just this. And it’s so damn good.
We fuck quietly, gasps held back as his forearms strain and pop.
We fuck slow, savoring the glide of his cock.
We fuck.