Page 90 of Wild Card

He groaned, his biceps flexing. “Goddamn, girl.”

“I want to see you too.”

“Ask nice,” he said with a depraved smirk and hooded eyes.

“Please, may I see your cock? I think I’m addicted to it.”

He chuckled, shifting around as he propped up his phone too. I nearly came right there on the spot when he spat thickly into his palm like he had in the truck and slicked his cock. The view from between his knees was glorious. All he had on was a pair of gray joggers, which were pulled down so he could stroke his shaft. He tucked his free hand behind his head and looked down the long line of his body at me.

“You’re beautiful, Jessa.” The words were smoldering coals. “Every goddamn inch of you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anybody more.”

“I know I haven’t.” My eyes were locked on his hand as it pumped, the sight of his shining cock appearing and disappearing into his fist, my fingers circling my clit in rhythm. “Remember when we fucked in your truck?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And remember when you came all over me?”

He groaned, his lids fluttering, his hand picking up speed.

“It was everywhere. On my stomach and tits and nipples in creamy ribbons, pooled in the hollow of my throat.”

“Jessa, fuck.”

“The look on your face when you licked a bead of your come off me was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t say anything, just stroked a little faster, his abdomen tight, every muscle in high relief.

I split my index and middle finger so my clit was between them and stroked harder, hot tension twisting deep in my belly.

“Do it again, Remy,” I breathed. “Come on your chest so I can imagine it’s me.

On command, he grunted, fucking his hand, his balls drawn tight. Alabaster come jetted from the tip of his cock in streams, streaking his tan skin, sliding into the valleys made by his muscles. A thick spurt ran down his crown and onto his hand, dripping down his fingers.

And that was the vision I came to, the orgasm gripping my lungs, tightening until it hurt, until there was no air, no space, no room for anything but sweet release.

Remy’s head hung back as he panted, his chest heaving, his hand still around his dick. I was too tender to touch, but I squeezed, feeling the orgasm through my fingers as it slowed.

He lifted his head like it weighed a thousand pounds, but reached for his phone and stood, making his way through the house.

“Put your fucking clothes on, Duchess.”

“Huh?” I sounded drunk.

“I’m fucking you tonight, Jessa. To-fucking-night. So put your fucking clothes on and be outside in ten minutes.”

“You’re crazy,” I said on a laugh.

“Crazy about you. Be right there.”

He hung up the call, and for a second, I lay there catching my breath, a silly, half-drunk smile on my face.

I was going to sneak out. I’d only ever snuck out of my room, never the grounds.

Of course Remy would have me break the rules.

And for him, I’d do it every time.

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