Page 59 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I toss my head back at his praise. Why is that so hot?

Mylan continues undressing until one final piece of clothing remains: dark gray boxer briefs. His dick is so hard, the thin fabric struggles to contain it.

“Mylan, please.” I can’t stand it anymore. I need him now. I’m begging him.

He smirks at me, that brat, and removes the underwear. His impressive dick pops up, bobbing until it points directly at me. I lick my lips, more than willing to take it in my mouth if he’d let me. But I have a feeling tonight isn’t about his pleasure. Tonight is about me.

About worshiping my body.

This beautiful man is torturing me in the best possible way, and I both love and hate him for it. He approaches my feet, leaning down to place a kiss on top of one.

“Tell me what you need, Lana.” He places more gentle kisses along my ankle and up my leg.

“I need you. Now.”

Soft lips caress my knee and the inside of my thigh.

“Need me how?”

I whine and reach for him, but he intercepts by grabbing my wrists and pushing them into the bed at my sides.

“Tell me.”

“I need you to fuck me.”

He lets go of my wrists to spread my legs wide, palms flat on the dimpled skin as he lowers his head to my cunt. My fingers weave into his hair, gripping the long locks tight the moment his tongue licks my opening to the top of my clit, lapping up my wetness.

“My sweet little donut,” Mylan whispers, more to my pussy than me. I start to laugh at him calling me donut, but when he slides his finger inside me, that laugh morphs into a moan.

I arch my back, and he splays his hand on my stomach to push me back down. Why does it feel so good when he does that?

“Is this cunt ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

He sticks two fingers in and pumps slow, curling the tips once deep enough to hit that spot that has been neglected most of my life.

“Mylan, please.”

“I love it when you beg.”

He removes his fingers and crawls up the rest of my body. He lifts the fingers that were just inside me to his lips, ready to lick them clean, but I grab his wrist instead and pull his hand down to my mouth. I suck his fingers, coated with my arousal, holding his heated gaze the entire time.

“Lana,” he whispers as my tongue swirls over the pad of his index finger. “That was mine.”

I release the finger and grin.

“Tell me how good you taste.”

“Not as good as you.”

He groans and his cock jerks. Beads of precum pool at the meaty head.

My words must have broken his patience. He starts fisting himself, then scans the floor to find where he threw his pants. “I need a condom.”

“Wait,” I say, and he pauses in between my legs. “I can’t get pregnant. And I’m clean. Are you clean?”

His brows furrow, perhaps weighing whether to question me about that.

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