Page 105 of Wingwoman
Good enough to feast on.
She wriggled under my attention, then slid her hands to cover her breasts. Even in the display of modesty, I saw her pinch her nipples, playing with her own body.
“Move those hands or I tie them up,” I growled.
Her already pink cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red.
Exhaling, she removed her hands and instead, stretched them above her head.
Growling, I reached out a single finger and ran it over the seam of her pussy. Her entire body trembled at my touch. I pushed that same finger inside her drenched folds, slick and smooth and all for me. She clenched around my finger, contracting as I pumped it in and out.
My self-control fractured and I brought my face between her legs, gliding my tongue along the same path my finger had just traveled. Gliding it up over her pussy to her clit, I wrapped my mouth around her hot button of need and sucked as her lower back arched off the bed.
She closed her knees around my face, locking me between her thighs.
Pulling back, I nipped the tender skin on the inside of her knees and clicked my tongue. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Keep those beautiful legs spread for me.”
She panted, whimpered a response that wasn’t quite words, but her knees fell back open as I instructed.
“Good girl,” I whispered, then went back to work, feasting on her pretty pussy, tonguing her clit while pumping two fingers in and out of her slick sex.
It didn't take long before her body clamped onto my fingers, erupting in tremors while she bucked and throbbed beneath me. I drank in her orgasm. Swallowed it. Absorbed it.
Just like Hope herself, it was perfection.
Like pure light exploding from within her.
Once the convulsions subsided, she pushed onto her elbows as I stood, towering over her panting body.
I pushed my still half-undone jeans to the floor and grabbed a condom from my bedside table. Tearing it open, I rolled it onto my length, then crawled on the bed to lean over top of her.
Gripping myself at the base, I glided my head along her pussy and she rolled her hips. Long lashes fluttered shut as I pushed slowly into her.
Her hips arched up, meeting mine, begging for more, but I had to pause. Relish in that sweet moment we’d never get again. The moment when our bodies first connected.
Slowly, I glided into her, agonizing inch by agonizing inch. And just when I’d thought I’d bottomed out, I latched my arm beneath her knee, hitching it up above my shoulder, allowing a few more centimeters of depth.
One hand flew to her breast, tugging at her nipple again. “What did I say about those hands?” I growled. Then gripping her wrists, I pinned them to the bed.
“Please, Josh,” she cried, writhing beneath me.
My name on her trembling lips was my undoing. I bent my head, taking that pearled nipple into my mouth, sucking and scraping my teeth against it as I arched my back, pumping into her over and over again.
I noted every part of my body that’s touching hers. The nestle of my hips at her thighs. The press of her calf over my shoulder and down my back. Her wrist with her pulse thrumming against the firm grip of my palm.
I set a slow but powerful pace. Rhythmically pumping in and out of her in hard thrusts.
Every whimper, every pant, every cry fed my desire.
She wriggled one hand free from my hold, reaching up to cup my jaw. She tilted my head so my eyes met hers.
Dark and damp like the morning dew on tree bark, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She just looked at me as I pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, with so much tenderness and vulnerability in that one gaze it made my heart ache.
She pinned me with that stare. Locked me with her eyes.
“Josh,” she whispered.
I saw a world of pain in the depths of that look. I saw the heartache from her ex, choosing fame and adultery over a woman like her. I saw the abandonment of her father. Never feeling like she was enough. Never being chosen.
