Page 8 of Don't Run
She cocks her head, licking her lips. “Didn’t we dance together downstairs?”
Shit.Did we?
Vague recollections of me dancing my way through the first floor of the party filter through my mind. I can’t match a singleperson to the bodies I grinded on as the music strummed through my veins and sent my hips rolling.
But if the woman beside me cares that I don’t remember her, I can’t tell as she lifts her leg onto the couch so she can scoot closer to me, bringing her jasmine-scented perfume with her while the moans around us reach a crescendo. “It’s okay, I was behind you and I left after the first song because I wanted to see…this.”
She breaks eye contact with me to return her focus to the stage.
Following her lead, I hiss at what I see.
The domme now has one of her shoes propped up on the sub’s shoulder as she stares down at the man devouring her pussy.
Hands still bound, dick still desperate for release, her sub sips from her center like it’s his life source.
Watching them amps up the lust humming in my veins and the depraved pulse thumping in my panties.
“Fuck, I love submissive men,” the woman beside me says, her voice breathy as she echoes my earlier sentiment.
I give an absent nod, letting my head fall to one side to take in the power exchange. The next time I tear my eyes away, it’s because of the heat of the woman’s gaze next to me.
“You’re new.” It’s not a question, purely an observation as she looks me up and down. Her perusing gaze stops at the points of my raised nipples and she hides a smirk by licking her lips. “You like this, don’t you?”
Her or the show on stage?
It doesn’t matter. I nod and swallow to rid my throat of the dryness trapping my words.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she praises, invading my space a little bit more.
She leans in, closing the dwindling distance and I exhale, so damn happy that she did.
The delicious sounds of fucking and the coiling current of energy between us splits my focus.
I don’t know what I expect next, but it’s not the way she nearly folds herself in half, pulling her knees to her chest before her hand disappears under the sliver of material known as her skirt.
“Ooh,” she mewls lowly. “I’m so fucking soaked.”
All I hear is the sound of her plunging two fingers inside of her slick heat before desperation claws at me and I have her face between my hands, kissing her senseless.
Letting her hand fall away from her wetness, she rises up on her knees and straddles my right thigh, refusing to break the kiss no matter how sloppy our tongues get.
She tastes like pumpkins and nutmeg. And I whimper at the way her warm tongue wraps around mine like it was made to do just that.
“I was hoping you’d do that,” she admits.
Before I can stop myself, my hands find her waist, soaking up the warmth of her exposed skin as she tongue fucks me right here in front of all these people.
The din of noises doesn’t fade away. If anything, it heightens the adrenaline pumping through me and doesn’t stop when the beauty in my lap starts grinding against my bare thigh.
This isnothow I saw my night going, but damn it if I’ll ever tell her to stop.
“Mmm, I like that,” she moans when I hold her hips down to increase the friction against her clit.
I don’t know if she has on panties; she’s so wet against my skin their existence doesn’t matter.
What matters is her getting what she needs.
She can use me to chase a nut and never speak to me again. I don’t care. I just want her to finish, and something in meneedsto see it.
