Page 32 of Plum

It should be nothing to say yes. That’s what I’m here for. It don’t come easy, though. Matter of fact, I can’t bring myself to say nothin’, so I look back at him and will him to read my mind.

In a split second, he’s on me, his hands cradling my face, and he takes my mouth. It ain’t a kiss; it’s everything. He’s somehow wedged his broad body between my knees, and I’m open to him, but I can’t even process that because he’s eating at my mouth, hungry and demanding, and even though my brain can’t keep up, my tongue knows what to do, twining with his, lapping at him, just as eager. More eager.

Then he’s pressing his forehead to mine, brushing light kisses across my cheeks, and he’s gasping for air, shaking in my arms. Or am I the one who’s shaking?

He nibbles at my lips, a soft tug, and then he’s braced above me, looking down, his glasses crooked, a dumb smile on his face.

I wriggle to sit upright. Somehow, I’ve slid down and now my neck’s bent almost ninety degrees with my shoulders stuck between the cushion and the back of the chair. My heart’s galloping, and his weight lifts—I think to let me up—but instead, he slides down between my legs, and he’s slipping off my panties.

“You come with me,” he says, and he grabs my hips and pulls me down to the floor after him. He’s kneeling, sitting back on his heels, and I’m straddling him, my dress bunched at my waist, no panties—they’re dangling from his hand—and my pussy lips are spread open. He’s hard against my clit, but he’s still wearin’ his pants, so there’s also rough fabric rasping against my folds and his belt buckle nipping at my belly, but that ain’t stoppin’ me.

I grind down, ‘cause it feels so crazy good, and he’s urging me on, arm wrapped around my back, the other hand touching me everywhere, tangling in my hair, then stroking my cheek, then cupping my ass. He’s making these noises, greedy noises, and I pull my head back ‘cause I want to see, but he don’t like that.

He hauls me closer, kisses me deeper, and I feel a dampness on my cheek. I can smell my pussy. He’s got my panties, and he’s pressing them to my cheek.

“You’re wet for me, baby. You’re soaking my pants.”

It’s like he’s trying to persuade me that I’m into this. Or himself. He reaches between us and strokes his fingers through my folds, gathering cream, and then he drops the panties to the floor and paints my lips with his fingers. “You want this.”

His lips brush mine when he talks, and his face is so close, our noses nestle. I’m wrapped around him, and he’s all over me, and it feels so…tangled.

“It don’t matter if I do or I don’t.” Oh, fuck. What is wrong with my mouth tonight?

He stiffens in my arms, but he doesn’t let go, not an inch. “What you want matters to me. More than anything else.”

This is crazy talk, but damn, they’re suchprettywords. I know it’s a fantasy, but it makes me high, this lion of a man with his glasses all askew, holding me, exploring me, treating me like I got the keys to the kingdom.

All I have to do to make this real is pretend that it is.

I know better—every minute of my life has taught me better—but I dare anyone to be this tempted and say no.

I don’t even have to say anything. Instead, I lean back, and I kiss him, devour him like he tried to devour me, but he ain’t as hungry as I am. He ain’t gone as long as I have without.

I plunge my fingers in his hair, wrap myself so tight around him that when he stands, he don’t even need to hold me up.

He stumbles for the bedroom, but I can’t wait. He’s bracing me now with his forearm under my ass, so I can rock my pussy against his hard cock—I can feel the heat through his pants, and I’ve soaked the fabric near to dripping. He’s biting my neck, and I’ve got my fingernails in his back.

When he drops me to the bed, he comes with me, tearing at my dress, and then when he only manages to pull half of it above my right tit, he goes to work on his belt, which he can’t seem to manage either.

I’m laughing, and then he’s laughing, and I undo his belt for him, and he shucks his pants while I wriggle out of my dress and bra.

And then I see his cock, and I ain’t laughing no more. Clark Kent is packingsteel. I ain’t lyin’ when I say I never saw a bigger one. He’s palming it, but other than that, he’s payin’ it no mind. I can’t tear my eyes away. You don’t see this every day. Good thing I’m really wet. Maybe I should use some lube anyway.

Adam seems totally oblivious to the fact he’s built like a goddamn beast. He’s feasting his eyes on my bare tits, every so often flicking his gaze to my face. Checking.

What’s he checking for?

The moment from the living room has kind of broken, and we’re back to wary, in our separate corners, so to speak. I’m thinkin’ again, and that ain’t good.

Adam goes to his night stand, pulls out a strip of condoms.

I guess we’re gettin’ down to business.

He props a knee on the side of the bed, rips the packet with his teeth, and rolls it on. Then he straddles my hips, and his rubber covered cock rests between my pussy lips. I spread my knees as far as they’ll go and tilt my hips as much as I can. This ain’t gonna go in easy the first time.

I’m as ready as I can be.

He tickles his fingers down my belly. My hands instinctively fly down to push him away, and I can’t help it. I squeal.

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