Page 56 of Lace 'em Up

And sweet baby Jesus, that’s good.

His hard cock pressing into me, thick like a steel rod, making my pussy grow even wetter. His breathing is even and steady, but his body moves against mine, grinding closer, his palm closing more firmly around my breast, thumb and forefinger unerringly finding my nipple, pinching it hard enough to make me buck against his thigh.

And then gasp, sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

Rolling my nipple back and forth, back and forth.

That thigh starting to match that rhythm—or maybe my rhythm as I rock against him, already almost embarrassingly close to an orgasm.

Ridiculous.

But I don’t stop moving.

Only—

He’s sleeping, and I’m grinding against him like he’s a sex toy while he’s unconscious, while he?—

Can’t possibly consent.

A bucket of ice-cold water over me, stealing my pleasure, having me go stiff and unsure.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Those fingers don’t stop. Neither does the thigh.

Desire and need threatening to steal this clarity, threatening to erase this knowledge of knowing I can’t do this.

Not while he’s sleeping.

Dammit.

I reach up, try to peel his palm away, even though those rolling movements are sending my head spinning, my pleasure spiraling. It would be easy to keep going like this, to come apart.

But it would be wrong.

So, I manage to summon a herculean amount of strength and pull his hand from my breast, to stop rocking.

To start to slide from his hold?—

His arm tightens.

I freeze, heart skipping a beat.

And then I find myself on my back, King over me.

His mouth descends and then I have no doubt that he’s awake. He takes charge of the kiss, tongue sweeping into my mouth, slick and hot and sure. It tangles with mine as one of his hands slides along my waist, dips beneath the hem of my T-shirt?—

His T-shirt.

I gasp at that warm palm trailing on my skin, drifting up, cupping my breast.

No material dulling the sensation, just his body against mine…and it’s fucking glorious.

He groans and I arch, trying to get as much of his touch as possible, but he only gives it to me for a disappointing second before his hand disappears.

I protest, and it’s cut off.

By the T-shirt being dragged over my head.

“Fuck,” he growls, head dipping, mouth meeting my skin. He licks and nips, kisses and drags his tongue over every inch of my exposed torso, slowly making his way up to my bare breast. “You are beautiful.”

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