Page 62 of Pleasure Island

I groaned as she closed over me, hot and hungry and tight.

Her hazel eyes locked with mine as she swayed forward and planted her hands on my shoulders.

Her breasts swung gently as she started to move, her nipples puckered and hard.

It was one hell of a sight, and I enjoyed it every time I saw it.

“I want your hands on me,” Mila said.

I squeezed her hips, my fingers curving into her ass. I was learning to play with her, and instead of doing as she clearly wanted, I used my hands to slow her rhythm, squeezing tighter. “My hands are on you,” I told her.

“Not like that.” Her lashes drooped over her eyes.

“Show me what you mean then.”

Her smile widened, and she slid her hands up to cup her breasts, lifting them, plumping them together.

My mouth watered just watching her.

“You know what I mean. I want you to touch me, Liam,” she insisted.

Who was I to say no to that?

Her hands fell away as I lifted mine to replace them and she shivered in satisfaction, still swaying in that slow, lazy rhythm.

I trailed one hand down her torso, then lower, watching her face as I found her clit with my thumb.

She bit her lower lip as I started to stroke.

I knew her rhythm now, knew the pressure she liked, when and how. I knew how to make her breathing hitch and how to make her sigh.

I knew how to make her come too, and I worked her until she started to move on me faster, her breaths coming in ragged pants.

I held my orgasm back as she worked herself over the edge. I lay there, letting her use me until she came with a hard, gasping cry.

As she collapsed against my chest, I threaded my fingers through her hair and tugged her head up.

She smiled.

I covered that smile with my mouth as I rolled us over, settling on my knees between her thighs. “We’re not done,” I said against her lips.

Her snug muscles tightened around my cock, and she arched under me. “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

Mila finally did gether coffee, and I accepted a cup from her as well, sipping it as I did a circuit around the house.

I came back into the kitchen as she was cracking eggs into a skillet. “I’m making breakfast,” she said.

I’d had a bagel on my way over.

“You can eat some if you want,” she added. “There will be enough.”

Sharing meals wasn’t exactly forbidden by the company, but I doubted they were highly recommended either.

But Mila watched me with expectant eyes so I nodded. “Sounds good.”

She was proving to be harder and harder to say no to.

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