Page 52 of A Pawn in the Game
“Could you help me out a little more?”
He inhales an audible breath. “Wh-what do you need help with?”
“I need you to get me out of these wet clothes.”
“Fuck,” he groans, his head dropping to his chest.
“Please,” I add, making him hiss.
Like in slow-motion, he turns toward me, his jaw set in stone. He approaches me as if I’m a wild animal waiting to jump him. Maybe I am. These feelings of mine are certainly not something I’m used to.
I raise both of my arms above my head, and he follows my lead, grabbing the bottom of my soaked top. Painfully slow, he lifts the cotton, revealing my stomach before reaching my breasts. He pauses for a second, glancing at me, and I nod for him to keep going. He curls his lips and strips my top. His breath hitches as his gaze freezes on my fully hard nipples.
It’s electrifying. Heat courses through me even though the drops of water have cooled down on my skin. I hated my body for a long, long time, but as he stares at me with fire swirling in his eyes, it’s hard to remember why.
I see him swallow, but once again I nod to urge him forward. Bending his knees, he hooks his finger to the waistband of my panties and starts peeling them off me.
My heart pumps wildly, but unlike the discomfort I typically feel, this feels good. Way too good. He lowers them all the way down to my feet and I step out of them, holding onto his shoulder. His head is in line with my pussy, my whole body screaming for him to touch me.
I take a deep breath. “Touch me,” I whisper.
He starts shaking his head.
“Touch me, please,” I repeat.
“You’re stressed and emotional, and I can’t fucking do this to you. Not again. Yesterday was a crazy mistake.”
He’s wrong. His hands were the ones who saved me. And his hands were the one who gave me pleasure. “I don’t give a fuck if it was a mistake. It helped me quiet my mind. It helped me be less afraid.” My voice grows louder. “Ineedyou to touch me.”
On a growl, he picks me up by the backs of my thighs and leads me out of the bathroom, only to drop me onto the bed.
I gasp, but it’s short-lived because his lips are on mine, soft and demanding. He doesn’t kiss me like I’m fragile. No, he devours my mouth before slipping his tongue inside, my tongue already waiting for him.
My mind’s a mess but being unable to control my thoughts has never felt so good. We split for a second, just long enough for him to take his t-shirt off.
The sight of his muscular, tattooed torso leaves me breathless. My fingers raise to follow his ink, almost entranced, but he removes my hand to place his lips back on mine. His hips lower, and the hard ridge of his cock comes in contact with my clit.
“Fuck,” I pant out because the friction is mind-blowing.
But then his calloused fingers brush a soft circle around my nipple, and I short-circuit. He does it again and again, as I grind my pussy on his still-covered cock.
He lowers his mouth down to my throat, licking and nipping it. My head moves from side to side, practically delirious with lust.
“Harder,” I whisper.
He twists a nipple roughly, enough to hurt, while biting into my neck. The pain turns to pleasure, and I break. I moan out my orgasm, my pussy pulsing as it clenches over nothing.
“Shit,” he mutters. His breath tickles me, but as soon as he rises, I drag him back down.
I need more.
Channeling a person I’ve only imagined before, I snake my hands over his hard abs, down to his pants. They’re drenched with my release but now is not the time to be ashamed about that. Awkwardly, I fumble with the button on his pants. Expecting another layer beneath, I gasp as my hand touches the warm skin of his cock.
I gently wrap my hand around his length, taking it out of his pants, and stifle another gasp. He’s huge. I’m not really anexpert on penis sizes, but I’m pretty sure the girth of my water bottle isn’t typical. He hisses, pumping into my touch.
I’d love to play with him more, but I desperately want him inside of me.
Raising my hips, I try to position us so that he can enter me, but once again, he draws back.
