Page 70 of Tourist Trap

The man is smiling, clearly finding satisfaction in my frustration.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want you to touch me.” I’ve never been coy about sex: why should I be? But whatever vein of bashfulness is out the window now: I’m certainly not going to be shy with the man I’ve been dreaming about for years.

“Like this?” he asks, thumb grazing slightly higher on my thigh, but still not where I want it. I shake my head, frustrated. He smiles. “Like this?” His voice is huskier now, as his thumb moves slightly inward, barely brushing a line across my underwear. I shake my head again, my breathing growing even more shallow.

His thumb grazes along the fabric over my swollen clit, and even though it’s a gentle graze—barely even a caress—I gasp before eagerly nodding.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“God, I can feel how wet you are for me already.”

“Please,” I beg.

His thumb presses a bit firmer this time, pressing along my soaked slit and then up to my clit. I groan, my hips bucking at the touch. His mouth descends on my nipple again, and I shriek as pleasure pulses through me.

But it’s not enough.

It’s so much, and it’s so good, but it’snot enough. He could do this all day, the most perfect torture, and it wouldn’t be enough: I wouldn’t fall. And somehow, I know he’d find joy in keeping me on this teetering edge all night.

“Miles, I need more,” I whisper.

His eyes look up and his mouth unlatches, and that smile appears again before he says, “Okay.”

And then he’s moving.

He’s pushing my skirt up my hips, and without even thinking, I grab eagerly at the hem to hold it in place as his fingers tuck under my underwear at my hips. He tugs them down, and a deep, satisfying groan leaves his lips when he sees me bared to him, a gleam in his eyes as his thumb traces the same path as before, but on heated skin.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a laugh, but his face is so serious, it fades from my lips quickly.

“I told you I would get on my knees for you.”

“Oh.”

His thumb brushes over my clit, and I moan, my head hitting the wall with a light thud. He runs it back and forth, then in circles over my swollen clit before my hips chase more. I should have known this is how things would be, unending teasing and torture, because that’s us after all, isn’t it?

He slides his thumb into me, and all thoughts leave my mind. My pussy tightens around it as I let out a shocked gasp. Looking down at him, he’s smiling wide, taking in every response I give and finding pleasure in it. Then his head descends, his lips moving to my clit.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, and instantly, he stops, looking up at me. I quietly groan at how he looks on his knees before me, my fingers gripping my skirt.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” His face is a mask of panic, worried he’s overstepping.

I shake my head, a smile spreading over my lips. “Shirt off. The visual will be so much better.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he lets out a loud, deep laugh, and god, I hope it’s always like this with us: this ease, this chemistry. It’s a relief to see it still exists even like this.

He obliges, taking his shirt off in one smooth tug and tossing it to the ground. I groan when I see his toned and muscled shoulders I’ve daydreamed about far too many times.

“Better now?” he asks like I’m inconveniencing him, a hand moving to my calf to lift my leg to his shoulder so I’m spread before him.

“You can proceed,” I nod.

He laughs, and I smile, but it’s cut short by my moans when he does, in fact, proceed. He licks me from entrance to clit, wrapping his lips around my clit before he sucks.

“Oh, god.”

When he pulls back, his eyelids are drooped, his face enamored like he’s actually in some form of heaven.

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