Page 270 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
His head shakes, his skilled tongue slipping out of my mouth.
Wild thoughts run through my head.Does he not want this? Is he more comfortable without his scars on display? Even with me.
His soft lips move away from mine, and a gentle nibble is the parting gift. Thoughts try to creep back into my mind, but I don’t welcome them as kisses trail down my jaw and strong hands move up my thighs.
I keep my fingers on tensing stomach muscles that feel too good. I have to touch him. The feel of his skin is my distraction from the dark place in my mind that tells me this is wrong and from the whistling fireplace that echoes the storm outside.
His touch moves inwards, knuckles brushing over my tiny shorts. Eyes flicking to me, asking if he has permission to take things further.
Please… please let me stay here in this place with you.
His eyes twinkle in a way I’ve never seen before. His fingers wrap around the thin material of my shorts, dipping inside.
Grazing my pussy, those fingers caress my clit, moving down to my entrance. Circling the two as I buck my hips toward him.
A kiss lands on my lips, eager and desperate as he pushes inside me. His hand ceases to move at his first knuckle. His mouth parts ways with mine, and the way his breath stutters against my wet lips makes me cold with the fear that he’ll pull away.
“More, Ambrose,” I beg.
His head shakes, and his eyes close. He wages an internal war between morals and desire.
I ignore everything inside me that tells me this is wrong. The memory of my parents. Shane and the buzzing of my phone that tries to interrupt this moment.
That vibration snaps Ambrose from his trance, and his finger moves again, pushing deep inside me, and moving in a way that just brushes my G-spot.
My back arches off the sofa cushions, and I feel myself grow wetter.
Raspy moans slip out of me, dancing around his tongue that drifts back to my waiting mouth.
His firm bulge presses into my leg, showing me his need without asking for anything.
Stretching my hand between us, I find his cock straining against his sweats, the material pulling so tightly over that area due to his size.
I want him. I want that.
His hand slows again, thoughts somewhere other than this moment.
It hurts.
Pain stabs into my chest.
Craving his attention, I trail my hand higher, to that perfect V that distracts me so much from my own thoughts.
My skin on his brings him back to me as fingers roam. Our kiss getting messy as I slip my hand lower.
Seeing him in the shower yesterday woke up feelings of indescribable lust, need, a longing I couldn’t fight. Being here with him now, our hands on parts of us we shouldn’t touch, electrifies every feeling I’ve ever had for him.
I rock into his hand, and his pace picks up. His finger curling a little deeper inside my pussy as my hand drops into his pants. The tip of my fingernail traces along the edge of his rim, and he shudders.
He breaks away, instantly, his finger leaving my soaking pussy. A fast hand wraps around my wrist, my wetness sticking us together.
His head shakes, fast and to the point.
He doesn’t want me touching him.
One hand moves to his face, and I smooth over pretty scars that sit below the makeup he’s plastered on, even today, when he hasn’t felt well.
“This isn’t wrong, Ambrose. If we both want it, it isn’t wrong. What I feel for you can’t be.”
