I can’t tell her the truth. It’ll ruin the mood, ruin the moment. She’s always teetering on that edge, volatile as hell and not afraid to tell me to fuck off before she leaves me in the dust.
Can’t risk it.
“What do you think I’m doing?” I run my hand across the front of her shorts, so I can cup her between her thighs. She’s hot. Damp. I can smell her.
She catches her lower lip with her teeth, studying me. A fallen angel with crushed black wings still hanging from her back. Her lipstick is long gone, her eyes are extra dark and her tits are out. All-knowing, yet innocent too. “I want you to make me come,” she demands.
I gently grind the heel of my palm against her pussy, making her breath catch. “Like that?”
“With your fingers,” she urges in a whisper. “Inside of me.”
I remove my hand. “Take your shorts off, Syl.”
She does as I ask, her fingers fumbling as she curls them around the waistband and tugs them down. Until she’s completely exposed, no panties on because that’s how Sylvie operates. She wants me to see her like this, think of her like this. Experimental. Wild.
But she’s also shy. Paranoid. A little scared.
“Leave them there,” I tell her when the shorts fall to her knees. “Spread your legs.”
Sylvie spreads them wider, allowing me a glimpse of glistening pink flesh. She doesn’t have much pubic hair, and what she does have is a blonde little tangle that barely covers her pussy.
Fuck, she’s a sight. If anyone could see her like this, they’d be shocked. This is not the act she puts on for anyone else.
Just me.
“Touch yourself,” I suggest, feeling like a sadistic fuck. Knowing she gets off on this sort of thing.
Her hand automatically goes between her legs, the slick sounds of her busy fingers telling me she’s already playing with her clit.
“You like it when I watch you do that?”
Our gazes clash, and I wonder where the hell we got this idea—to do it like this.
“Yes,” she whispers, nodding. Her hair falls over her eyes, but she doesn’t push it out of the way.
Her fingers are too preoccupied doing other things.
Impatience curls through me and I go to her, pushing her hand aside and replacing her fingers with my own. I sink them into her creamy flesh, stroking her, slipping a finger just inside her and she arches her head back, exposing her throat as she moans. I brush my mouth against her neck, licking and sucking, rubbing her clit over and over. Until her entire body is trembling and her breaths come faster. She’s close to coming, I can tell, and at the last second, I remove my hand from her, taking a step back.
The glare on her face would slay dragons, and all I can do is smile at her.
“My turn,” is all I say.
“This isn’t a game, Spence.”
“Ah, but it is, Syl. This is how you like it, remember?” I start to undo the buttons on my shirt, my heart rate increasing, my muscles tightening in anticipation. “Get on your knees.”
She shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders to take off the fallen angel wings that are barely hanging on. She tosses them on the edge of her bed, black feathers fluttering everywhere, some of them landing on the bed or the floor. “Make me.”
Everything in her life is so out of control. She’s admitted that to me before. She’s in freefall, constantly. Unsure and untrusting of everything and everyone.
Except with me. She prefers it when I tell her what to do. That way, she knows what to expect. What I want.
And I always give her what she wants in the end, so she has no complaints.
I whip off my shirt, and she falls to her knees, reaching for the front of my trousers. Her shaky fingers work the button and pull down the zipper. She presses her palm against the front of my boxer briefs, her fingers curling around my cock, giving me a firm squeeze.
“Harder,” I grit out.