I taste cake and tropical fruit sensation and a sweet, tangy undertone of beer. But none of it as sweet as this woman's lust for me. She makes a whimpering sound and rubs her lips against mine as I haul her into my lap.
Abandoning her reservations, she presses her tits against my chest and rocks her pelvis along my hard-on. Those silky shorts of hers are great for the friction and I internally praise myself for wearing sweatpants tonight instead of jeans.
I kiss down the length of her neck and my hands roam everywhere—her long hair, her bare thighs, up the back of her shirt. I'm fucking desperate, frantic. Her fingers are in my hair and she makes the sweetest sounds, eagerly cheering me on.
But does she really know what she’s getting herself into? Does she really know what all of this would mean? If we actually have sex tonight, would she be prepared for the consequences of that?
I lift my head away from her neck and stare up at her perfect face. "How far are we taking this, Jessa?"
She looks into my eyes. She doesn't hesitate. "All the way."
When she says that, my heart starts pounding. I can’t wait another second to get her naked. With her ass cradled in my palms, I bolt to my feet. She kisses my face, pulls on my hair as I hurriedly stomp down the hallway in the direction of her room.
I drop her on the bed. I lock the door.
38 Jessa
Eli double-checks the lock. Then, he’s stalking purposefully toward the bed.
And, whoa—the look in his eyes.
My sweaty palms grip the sheets. My heart beats out a rhythm that makes no sense. I know I’m about to be devoured.
Without a word, he bends forward and possessively claims my mouth. He’s on top of me now, his big, hard body stretched out along mine. He’s kissing me with the passion of a man at war, a man fighting to save his own life. Chills sweep through me as my own survival instinct shuts off. I’m drowning in his intensity and I don’t even care to come up for breath.
He tears my shirt over my head and flings it god-knows-where. Then, he’s getting rid of my shorts and my panties and I’m naked and none of this feels real.
It’s him and me. In bed. Skin-on-skin. Just like I’ve daydreamed about a million times. I need to pinch myself because I’m living out a fantasy I never actually expected to come true.
Eli’s lips move along my jaw and down my throat, his warm mouth and rough beard tickling and thrilling me. “You’re so fucking sexy, Jessa,” he mumbles against my neck.
I bite down on my lip. I dare not open my mouth. I dare not tell him that I think he’s beyond sexy, beyond handsome, beyond perfect. I dare not tell him that he’s kind and he’s funny and he’s good, and that I see those things in him even when he’s being an asshole and doing his darnedest to shut the whole world out.
I dare not tell him that I’m falling in love.
Because Eli just wants to fuck. He wants to pin me to this mattress and use my body to find release. And I’m cool with that, too.
His trail of kisses moves downward. He strokes my breasts and teases my nipples before giving them attention with his tongue. I purr. I mewl. I writhe against the sheets.
He takes his time, marvelling over every inch of me, worshipping me like a deity come to life. By the time his kisses travel down my torso to my pelvis, I feel like I’m about to burst.
My breasts tingle. My spine arches. So much need. Building higher and higher inside me.
With a hint of a grin, he grabs the backs of my knees, spreading them apart. He lazily drags a finger through my pussy lips while he kisses the inside of my thigh, getting closer to my centre before drifting back toward my knee. He plunges two digits into my soaked, thrumming core. His fingers buckle and curl, every stroke making me lose a little bit of my sanity. The bastard is torturing me. All I want is his mouth on my pussy.
I try to recall the rules for scenarios like this. Good girls are willing to wait. Good girls are patient and polite. Good girls don’t state their needs and make demands. But when he spreads my folds and tenderly pets my clit with his tongue, the rulebook goes flying out the window. At this point, orgasms are a priority. And I just want to be bad.
"Eat my pussy," I moan frantically, rocking my hips, pleading shamelessly. "Dammit. Eat my pussy."
He lifts his head from between my thighs, eyebrow raised. "Miss Robson, is that any way to speak to your boss? I’m gonna have to take this up with human resources.”
“Oh god, Eli. Stop fucking around," I laugh breathlessly. "You're killing me." Squirming with impatience, I reach for his hand. I put it between my thighs, right where I want it.
And the bastard slaps my pussy.
How rude!
I gasp as pleasure explodes in my nipples. My pussy splurts and a flash flood of wetness gushes out. The strike didn’t hurt. Actually, it felt pretty fucking good. But it was definitely a shock.
The feminist in me rages. “What the hell was that for?” I hiss, leering down at him.
Eli soothingly strokes my clit as he speaks. “That was for thinking you’re in charge here. Lie back, relax and let me take my time with you.” My poor little button strains and throbs against his finger, begging for more friction.
“Do you have to be the boss in every area of your
