Page 65 of The Bright Side of Christmas
I thrive at these words, at the confirmation that I’m pleasing him, and I move faster, taking him deeper. My hand wraps around the base to jack the bit I can’t fit into my mouth, and my head bobs over him, feeling him lengthen and throb in my mouth.
I begin to squirm, wildly turned on by the noises he’s making, by what I’m doing, by the mere fact I’m bringing him so much pleasure. I shift, trying to press my thighs together, to find someangle where I can get the proper pressure on my clit to alleviate the ache between my legs.
With the next stroke, I take him deeper than ever, and his cock slides deep into my throat, and I moan around him as his hand tightens in my hair, the sound garbled. It seems to be a tipping point for him.
“Fuck it,” he says, and he’s shifting, popping my mouth off his cock and bending to put his hands beneath my arms. Then I’m moving as he lifts me, situating me until I’m straddling his legs, my dress pooling around us, his stiff cock between us. His hand moves, his thumb pressing right where my clit is beneath my panties and tights. “Is this pussy wet for me?” I pant as his lips press to my jaw, and he peppers kisses along my neck. “Wren.” It’s a command to answer that I hear through a thick haze of lust.
“Yes.” The word comes out in a long breath as his hand moves to my hip, pulling me to grind against him.
“From sucking me off?”
“Yes,” I groan, tilting my hips, desperate to find some kind of friction for my clit.
“Let me check,” he says. I expect him to slide a hand down my belly, beneath my tights, and into my underwear, but that isn’t what happens.
Instead, both of his strong hands move to the crotch of my tights, and he grips them on either side of my center. I let out a shocked gasp as the admittedly thin fabric tears, giving him the perfect access to my panties.
“Adam!” I gasp in admonishment, but there’s no time for any other argument, not when he’s sliding my underwear to the side, not when he’s dipping one thick finger into me. He groans at the feel, and I echo it, my hips moving.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His finger moves out, then slides back in, slowly fucking before sliding in a second.
“Adam,” I whisper. It’s building faster than ever before, the pleasure swirling in my belly, but I still need more. I need his finger on my clit or I need him to fill me more…something.Anything.
He knows that, and as seems to be his way, Adam has a plan.
“I gotta get you close, because I am not going to last long. Not with the visual of you kneeling before me, sucking my cock fresh in my mind, not with those little, needy sounds you’ve been making, and sure as fuck not with the way you’re squeezing my fingers.” His words are a low growl, vibrating through me and sending me higher.
“Adam,” I breathe.
“That’s it, baby. Ride my fingers. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Taking what you want, what you need, asking me for what you want. Being selfish. Nothing turns me on more.”
I nod, barely able to push the following words out without moaning to do just that.
“Fuck me, Adam,” I groan. He said he wants me to ask for what I want. That’s what I want.
He smiles then, wide and proud.
“There she is,” he murmurs, then slides his fingers out, pinching my clit and pulling a mewl from my lips as he does.
I open my mouth to argue about his teasing, but then he’s lifting me with one hand and using the other to guide his cock between us. Once the head is positioned, I fight the urge to slam down on him, to give myself the exquisite fullness I’ve come to expect with him. Instead, I let him take the lead, his hands going to my hips beneath my dress, slowing my descent.
It’s torture.
The most beautiful, magical, breathtaking torture as I feel every inch of him filling me, as our labored breaths mingle, as he presses soft kisses to my lips and my cheeks and my jaw and my neck as if he can’t stand not touching me incessantly.
When my hips settle on his lap, we both let out a deep groan. I lift my hips once, then drop again, sighing with pleasure, but when I try to do it again, he stops me.
“No, no. Grind on me, baby. Take what you need.”
I drop my head forward into his neck, breathing heavily, trying not to scream from the pleasure flooding my body. His hands grip my hips under the floaty skirt of my dress, grinding my hips along him in a way so reminiscent of our first time, encouraging me to take what I need. With each movement, my clit grinds against him, and his cock fills me a bit deeper. The angle is perfect, the way we’re both sitting up, meaning I have the most direct pressure on my clit with each movement. I experiment with lifting my hips just a bit, then shifting to grind as I fill myself with him and bite back a shout at the way it makes that tension in my belly tighten faster.
“Fuck yeah,” he groans, clearly liking that as much as I did. I do it again and again, and soon I’m teetering on the edge.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I murmur. My underwear is cutting into my hip, but it doesn’t distract me or take away from anything—instead, it’s the opposite, adding to the layers of pleasure I’m feeling.
“Come on, baby. Come on. Fuck, that’s what I want. I want to feel you come around me.”
That does it.
