Page 98 of Charming Deception

Carefully, my fingers steal to my clit and stroke through the thin cotton of my panties, unable to stop themselves. Just trying to ease the ache.

But it’s not enough.

My other hand steals quietly to the rescue and tugs down my panties, baring my clit for my trembling fingers.

As my fingertips drift over my clit, a featherlight touch is all I dare.

But I must make a sound or something.

His low, rough whisper makes me freeze. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I whisper back. My voice is thick with desire, but it probably sounds sleepy.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he breathes.

“Mm.”

The covers slide over me as he shifts, relaxing into the bed with a soft, rugged sigh, and the fabric brushes my clit, sending tingles of pleasure and awareness through my body. He touched the fabric, which touched me, and it’s enough to send me tumbling down the rabbit hole.

There’s no way I can resist this.

My fingers drift over my clit, the swollen softness and the sensitive bud within. I tease it with my fingertips, tentatively, gently, making no noise or movement that disturbs the bed or the covers.

My core, deep inside, clenches in response.

I’m going to come. I need to. Badly.

I need relief from this terrible, throbbing ache, and I can do it quickly, quietly.

I’ve learned how.

In bed, next to Troy, in those long, dark periods when he refused to touch me. When he shut me out.

Don’t think about him.

I picture Jameson vividly. I see his cock in his hand, so distinctly his. Long, thick, virile. Straining with arousal, with the need to come. Precome beading wetly on the lush head, his balls swollen and full, more than ready to fill a girl to overflowing.

I imagine him guiding himself toward my opening and then the flex of those strong hips, the clench of that muscular ass, as he shoves himself deep inside me. The heat of him and the weight. His heavy balls slapping wetly against my drenched, dripping pussy.

That wonderful, pleasured grunt of his when he discovers how wet for him I am…

I lock my hips tight as pleasure explodes between my legs. I hold my breath and I’m flying. I’m coming silently in the bed, right next to him, my body outwardly still while my core clenches with deep, shuddering spasms, one after another… the muscles inside me clutching, wanting the fullness of his rigid cock… my intense emptiness aching right through the pleasure.

I think of how he came, those luscious jets of semen.

I imagine him emptying himself inside me like that, in long, hot pulses that make him shake.

Would he grunt with each spurt like he did in the bathroom, restrained, fighting the ecstasy?

Or would he let go, releasing with a full-throated growl, shouting his pleasure, purring my name?

As I tease my clit through the contractions that rack my core and leave my panties a slick, drenched mess, I don’t dare make a sound.

I don’t move or jerk the bed. I don’t disturb him.

I don’t let on that I’m coming long and hard, my head spinning with pleasure, right next to him.

After I’ve teased out every twinge of pleasure I can with featherlight caresses, I slip my panties into place and push my nightshirt down. I roll onto my side, away from him, to cover the movement.

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