Page 70 of Romance Languages

“What about the French?”

“Give them wine and a cigarette, and they’ll do anything.”

He pulled me down next to him, our faces side-by-side. It was a perfect kissing moment, and I wanted to lunge forward and plant one on him. Yet I couldn’t break my own rule.

Seamus rolled on top of me. He lifted my legs and spread them. I was wearing dress pants and underwear, and yet I still felt exposed. I let out a groan as his weight pinned me down. His thickening cock pressed against my opening.

His muscular arms rested by my head as he stared down at me with a goofy, mischievous smile.

“You ready to ride the Frottage Roller Coaster?” he asked.

“My hands and arms are inside the ride.”

My laughter stopped when he thrust his crotch against me, his cock making contact with my most sensitive area. A jolt of lust electrocuted me.

Four layers of clothing separated us…but they also didn’t.

Frottage was no joke.

Seamus rocked his hips into me in a steady rhythm, the outline of his dick hitting my hole in a regular cadence that made my cock swell. I leaked pre-come. So much for keeping this dry.

“I can’t believe we’re dry humping,” I said.

“The only thing that would make this better is if we were doing it on your childhood bed.” Seamus lifted my left leg and threw it over his shoulder. He thrust harder against me, somehow hitting a new angle and a new pleasure center.

“Holy shit,” I cried out, surprised that dry humping could feel this good.

“Penetrative sex is for losers, am I right?” Seamus wiggled his eyebrows. How he could be silly and ridiculously sexy at the same time was an incredible feat.

“Intercourse can go fuck itself. I should get that printed on a shirt.” I devolved into wild laughter, tears prickling at my eyes. Seamus collapsed onto my chest, similarly in stitches.

Did all people laugh this much during sex? After our other activities had turned serious, it was a welcome change being relaxed with him.

“This actually feels good. I might be sore tomorrow.” I rubbed a hand over his chest, his muscles flexing under my touch.

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He grabbed my wrists, pushed them over my head, and held me in place as he dry-drilled my clothed hole. His cockhead hit me in just the right spot, an unrelenting tease.

I unleashed moan after moan. “Fuck yes. Dry fuck me, Seamus.”

We laughed at the command. We really did sound like awkward teenagers. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of our parents walked in on us.

“You like getting dry fucked? Are you a frottage slut?”

I threw my head back, moaning and laughing.

“Are you the star of Jim Henson’s new showFrottage Rock?”

“That’s too far. You’re ruining my childhood,” I said.

Seamus pounded against me, grunting and thrusting. His arms flexed over me, muscles corded and clenched as his grip tightened on my wrists. I writhed under him, shifting my angle to feel him in different ways.

Lust hung heavy in his eyes. Those blue orbs bore into me ravenously, but they also had a caring glint to them, like he wanted to tear me apart but then put me back together. Was this the way he gazed at girls he had sex with?

Soon, the laughing died out, replaced with pure hunger. He slammed against me, his erection hitting my hole and lighting me up.

“Seamus,” I panted out.

“Are you okay?” Concern immediately filled his voice.

---