Page 111 of Take It Offline

Fuck, she’s handsy. Now that she’s given herself permission, she’s relentless, clawing at my clothes, devouring my mouth. She runs her hands over my ribs, down my back, grabs my ass. I love it.

Every other time she’s been reserved or tied up or too fucking far away. She said she wanted it, but this is proof.

It’s real and it’s raw and it’s so good, nothing will ever match it.

I pull her sweater out from her pants, slide my hands up, and just about pass out. She’s not wearing a fucking bra. All I find are her fantastic tits, full and round and a perfect fit in my hands.

I don’t realize we’re moving until there’s a crash.

I can’t stop kissing her long enough to care.

“Charlie,” Emma says, panting.

My fucking name sounds so good in her mouth. I growl, sucking a bruise into her neck. Fuck, she smells good. “I’ll buy a new one.”

Whatever it is, it’s replaceable.

She isn’t.

I keep walking her back until her knees hit the bed.

“Off, take this off.” She tugs at the hem of my shirt.

Gladly.

I whip it over my head, and then she’s pulling my sweats off and pushing me onto the bed, staring down at me like she’s going to eat me alive.

Slowly, I slide my hand down my stomach to my cock, which is lying thick and hard and up for everything she wants to do. Emma stares as I wrap my hand loosely around myself and stroke nice and slow.

A bead of precum wets the tip, and I circle my thumb in it, damn near vibrating out my skin. She’s too fucking far away. I need to touch her, need to be inside her.

She licks her lips, and a groan claws its way out of my chest. Fuck, I can’t help but imagine them stretched over my dick.

“See something you like?”

“Yes.” Emma rips her own clothes off so fast I’m shocked she doesn’t pull a muscle.

I’m so fucking turned on, I can’t help but tease her. “A little impatient there?”

She straddles me, pulling my hand off my cock, and presses both my wrists into the mattress. “My turn.”

Holy fucking fuck. She’s going to kill me.

With a hum, she grasps my dick. Her grip is perfect—not too tight, squeezing with each stroke. When she teases my foreskin back to thumb at the head, I can’t stop my hips from thrusting up, trying to get closer.

She watches as another bead of precum pools at the tip, then leans down to taste. The moment her tongue touches my cock, I groan.

“Oh, fuck.”

I’ve wanted her to touch me for weeks. Months. Since the day we met.

And from the hunger in her eyes, the way she can’t keep her hands off me, like she can’t decide where to start, it’s obvious she’s been wanting this too.

She licks a line down my cock, moaning as she goes. It’s wet, and messy, and I swear to god, I’m close to coming already.

“Condoms?” she asks, sitting up, her mouth glistening.

“Top drawer.”

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