After Dark
Page 35
Her breath on my neck distracted me badly.
Her small hands roamed my torso.
“Okay,” she said.
Okay? Too easy …
I mentally revisited my “FIX SHIT” list. Talk about things. Money: check. Chrissy: check. Therapy: fucking hell …
In my ideal vision of this conversation, I told Hannah everything. I showed her my Black Book of Aberrant Desires. We discussed the things I’d discussed with Mike. She was amenable, excited, unafraid. And then we had hot, sadistic sex all night.
In reality …
This peaceful picnic blanket seemed like no place for talk of pain and shame. Hannah’s mood had done a one-eighty. She kissed me and I tasted beer and citrus.
“Hannah, is—” I gasped. She straddled my lap and began to grind on me, rolling the apex of her legs along my dick.
“Is what?” She threw back her head, her curls sliding off her shoulders. Instinctively, I tugged on them, eliciting a moan.
“Is there … anything else you want to talk about?”
I gazed down, mesmerized by the motion of her body on mine. My dick rose readily.
“Another time,” she whispered.
Fuck, yes. Another time …
I groaned and braced my hands on the blanket behind me, letting Hannah do her thing. My lust sprang back to life. I closed my eyes and moved my hips, making damn sure she felt my hardness, and when Hannah scampered up to undo her pants and slide down her thong, I flicked open my pants and freed my cock.
She resettled on me, gripping my shoulders for leverage. Skin to skin. Now, when she ground her body on my lap, the lips of her sex spread desire up and down my cock. But she didn’t slide onto it. She pinned it to my belly, an aching hardness, damp at the tip, and glided over it until she was soaked.
“This is fucking good,” I hissed.
I tried to angle my hips so that I pierced her, but no dice.
“I know you need it,” she whispered in my ear. “You’ve been staring at me all morning. At these…”
My eyes slipped open.
Hannah had yanked up her sports bra and tank. Her breasts hung down, full and bare.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck yeah.” They spilled into my hands. As I squeezed them, Hannah changed her motion, tilting her pelvis so that her clit rubbed up and down my dick. I wanted her. To be in her. I wanted to be on top of her, taking her. But this? Watching her pleasure herself on my body? This was so fucking hot.
“You—are you”—I rolled her nipples to stiff peaks—“gonna make yourself…”
“Yes,” she breathed. She moved faster, harder, and her hand darted between us. She positioned my shaft and slammed onto it.
“Fuck! Hah … babe.” That tight, sudden grip hurt. And then it felt better. And better. I sank onto my back and arched. “God, ride me.”
Hannah bounced on me once, twice, and began to quake.
Her climax clenched my arousal. I seized her hips, willing her to continue, but she climbed off of me and collapsed with a groan.
“God, that was good.” Her hand twitched on my chest, her fingers grazing my nipple.
“Hannah,” I snarled, reaching for my shaft.
“No, no.” With a tsk, she batted away my hand and forced my cock back into my boxers. The fabric grated against my head. My whole package throbbed, overheated, oversensitive, damp. I sat up and glared at the ridiculous tent in my boxers.
“What the hell?”
Hannah shimmied back into her thong and pants. She pulled her bra and tank into place.
“I wanted to punish you,” she said simply. She knelt and began to do up my pants, imprisoning my hard dick. I moaned and reached for it. No fucking way …
“Love, please.” I grimaced. “This shit is not funny.”
Again, she batted at my hand, and when I tried to undo my fly, she pinned my wrists to the blanket. “Don’t, Matt.” She gazed at me earnestly.
“Fuck!” I flopped onto my back and lay there panting, burning with pent-up desire. God, I wanted to fuck. Hannah held my hand. She brushed her thumb over my wrist.
“Good boy…”
“You.” I glared at her.
“I know it’s not funny. It wasn’t funny for me, either. It was confusing and … agonizing.” She bit her bottom lip. She laid a hand over my crotch and I sucked in a breath. “And sort of … a crazy turn-on,” she mumbled.
I scowled. Was this a turn-on? Well, in a manner of speaking …
A really fucking unfortunate manner.
I closed my eyes and debated the wisdom of forcing myself on Hannah. Negative, we weren’t playing like that right now. She couldn’t stop me from jerking off, though.
But that would be a defeat.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. I opened my eyes and squeezed her hand. Her gaze strayed over the bulge in my pants. “You’re hard to resist. Was it hard to deny me?”
“Very … hard.” I rolled my eyes and she giggled. “Shush. Your bird giggles aren’t helping. Finish your beer.”
She scooted away and sipped her beer.
“I need a moment to…” Get a grip. Literally. “Relax.”
And I did relax, after what felt like forever. Hannah watched me, her boldness diffused into timidity, finished her drink and ate a pear. The juice dribbled down her chin. I smirked and looked away. At least she wasn’t sucking on a goddamn banana.
My dick settled down and I sighed. Blessed relief. But a touch from Hannah, a certain sort of look, and I’d be hard all over again.
Her small hands roamed my torso.
“Okay,” she said.
Okay? Too easy …
I mentally revisited my “FIX SHIT” list. Talk about things. Money: check. Chrissy: check. Therapy: fucking hell …
In my ideal vision of this conversation, I told Hannah everything. I showed her my Black Book of Aberrant Desires. We discussed the things I’d discussed with Mike. She was amenable, excited, unafraid. And then we had hot, sadistic sex all night.
In reality …
This peaceful picnic blanket seemed like no place for talk of pain and shame. Hannah’s mood had done a one-eighty. She kissed me and I tasted beer and citrus.
“Hannah, is—” I gasped. She straddled my lap and began to grind on me, rolling the apex of her legs along my dick.
“Is what?” She threw back her head, her curls sliding off her shoulders. Instinctively, I tugged on them, eliciting a moan.
“Is there … anything else you want to talk about?”
I gazed down, mesmerized by the motion of her body on mine. My dick rose readily.
“Another time,” she whispered.
Fuck, yes. Another time …
I groaned and braced my hands on the blanket behind me, letting Hannah do her thing. My lust sprang back to life. I closed my eyes and moved my hips, making damn sure she felt my hardness, and when Hannah scampered up to undo her pants and slide down her thong, I flicked open my pants and freed my cock.
She resettled on me, gripping my shoulders for leverage. Skin to skin. Now, when she ground her body on my lap, the lips of her sex spread desire up and down my cock. But she didn’t slide onto it. She pinned it to my belly, an aching hardness, damp at the tip, and glided over it until she was soaked.
“This is fucking good,” I hissed.
I tried to angle my hips so that I pierced her, but no dice.
“I know you need it,” she whispered in my ear. “You’ve been staring at me all morning. At these…”
My eyes slipped open.
Hannah had yanked up her sports bra and tank. Her breasts hung down, full and bare.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck yeah.” They spilled into my hands. As I squeezed them, Hannah changed her motion, tilting her pelvis so that her clit rubbed up and down my dick. I wanted her. To be in her. I wanted to be on top of her, taking her. But this? Watching her pleasure herself on my body? This was so fucking hot.
“You—are you”—I rolled her nipples to stiff peaks—“gonna make yourself…”
“Yes,” she breathed. She moved faster, harder, and her hand darted between us. She positioned my shaft and slammed onto it.
“Fuck! Hah … babe.” That tight, sudden grip hurt. And then it felt better. And better. I sank onto my back and arched. “God, ride me.”
Hannah bounced on me once, twice, and began to quake.
Her climax clenched my arousal. I seized her hips, willing her to continue, but she climbed off of me and collapsed with a groan.
“God, that was good.” Her hand twitched on my chest, her fingers grazing my nipple.
“Hannah,” I snarled, reaching for my shaft.
“No, no.” With a tsk, she batted away my hand and forced my cock back into my boxers. The fabric grated against my head. My whole package throbbed, overheated, oversensitive, damp. I sat up and glared at the ridiculous tent in my boxers.
“What the hell?”
Hannah shimmied back into her thong and pants. She pulled her bra and tank into place.
“I wanted to punish you,” she said simply. She knelt and began to do up my pants, imprisoning my hard dick. I moaned and reached for it. No fucking way …
“Love, please.” I grimaced. “This shit is not funny.”
Again, she batted at my hand, and when I tried to undo my fly, she pinned my wrists to the blanket. “Don’t, Matt.” She gazed at me earnestly.
“Fuck!” I flopped onto my back and lay there panting, burning with pent-up desire. God, I wanted to fuck. Hannah held my hand. She brushed her thumb over my wrist.
“Good boy…”
“You.” I glared at her.
“I know it’s not funny. It wasn’t funny for me, either. It was confusing and … agonizing.” She bit her bottom lip. She laid a hand over my crotch and I sucked in a breath. “And sort of … a crazy turn-on,” she mumbled.
I scowled. Was this a turn-on? Well, in a manner of speaking …
A really fucking unfortunate manner.
I closed my eyes and debated the wisdom of forcing myself on Hannah. Negative, we weren’t playing like that right now. She couldn’t stop me from jerking off, though.
But that would be a defeat.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. I opened my eyes and squeezed her hand. Her gaze strayed over the bulge in my pants. “You’re hard to resist. Was it hard to deny me?”
“Very … hard.” I rolled my eyes and she giggled. “Shush. Your bird giggles aren’t helping. Finish your beer.”
She scooted away and sipped her beer.
“I need a moment to…” Get a grip. Literally. “Relax.”
And I did relax, after what felt like forever. Hannah watched me, her boldness diffused into timidity, finished her drink and ate a pear. The juice dribbled down her chin. I smirked and looked away. At least she wasn’t sucking on a goddamn banana.
My dick settled down and I sighed. Blessed relief. But a touch from Hannah, a certain sort of look, and I’d be hard all over again.
