Page 56 of Afterglow
We’re in big, massive, rock-solid trouble.
We stumble through the entryway, lips locked and tongues tangled as we kick off our shoes.
Bea escapes and beats me to the bedroom. I pant in the arch of the open door, watching her strip away her socks and leggings in the dressing mirror on one side of my bed. She reaches below the fabric and pulls down, retrieving a flimsy lace string that slips to the floor.
I gulp.
“Fuck.” My hand scrubs my face. “That dress is killing me.”
“I should get rid of it, then.” She undoes one button. “I don’t want you to die.” Then another. And another, and another, and another, and another, until a sheer, strapless bra appears, cutting through a creamy stretch of her midsection as she bunches the flowery fabric to her hips. Her arms pretzel behind her, unhooking it to remove from the front, revealing those mauve nipples pierced with shiny metal. She throws it to the side and crawls onto the bed. Her tits sway with every stalking movement toward me.
“God.” I give my solid cock a squeeze over my sweats.
“That’s so hot,” Bea coos, kneeling atop the edge of the mattress. “Come here,” she beckons with a curled finger. “Take off your shirt.”
Hell, I could come right now. But I obey, shrugging off the flannel button-up and the white tee below in one swoop over my head as my feet guide me to her.
“You can have whatever you want from me, Fletcher.” Her eyes dart back and forth between mine. “Just say the words. Tell me what you want.”
“I—” Don’t have a functioning brain right now.
She toys with a piercing. “You wanna touch them?”
I nod rapidly.
“Words, Fletcher.”
“Yes,” my voice rasps, unrecognizably low.
She circles both wrists and places my palms over her breasts. My fingers stretch and contract around the soft flesh, warm and lush in my grasp. I suck in a shaky breath. Her nails scrape along the elastic securing my pants to my hips. I hiss when they cross the line of hair above my groin.
“You want me to suck your cock?”
The question and mention have it straining in my boxer briefs.
“God, yes.”
“Then take it out.”
I lower the band, and it springs forward, the swollen head overeagerly leaking with pre-cum.
“Holy shit,” she gushes, switching her focus from its length up to my face. “You’re already that desperate for me?”
I nod again, muting a groan while thumbing over her tightened nipples.
“You make me so fucking wet, Fletcher.”
My cock bobs midair at the idea.
“Wanna see?”
All I can do is verbally agree. I’ll give this goddess whatever she fucking wants.
Bea scoots back, getting on all fours, then flips up the skirt of that dress to give me the most illicit view of her dripping pussy in the mirror behind her.
“Fuck,” I lament, stroking myself.
“Fuck,” she echoes. “Grab my hair, Fletcher.”
