Page 45 of Fly Boy
I miss the contact as he travels down my stomach. My muscles jump from his touch until he reaches my ass, kneading almost painfully into one cheek before grabbing my thigh and lifting my leg to hook around his hip. I’m making sounds I’ve never made before as he grinds into me, the feeling of his hard cock against my core phenomenal. That alone is better than I’ve ever experienced, better than the hookups I’ve had in the dark withboysbecause Wyatt Grant is allman.
Possessive and taking what he wants without question.
His gray sweatpants leave little to the imagination, and neither do my leggings as he takes control, using my thigh to rut against me, my panties absolutely soaked and it’s not from being out inthe rain. Wyatt’s hand from behind my head shifts to my breasts, yanking down my bra, the elastic biting into my skin, but I don’t care. The sharp sting of pain is masked by the pleasure his fingers deliver when his thumb brushes over my nipple.
I gasp, arching into his hold, and his lips kiss the slope of my neck, down my chest, where he draws my nipple into his mouth. It feels amazing, the warmth, the wetness, the expert way his tongue teases me. Who knew nipple play could be like this? My hand flies to his hair, tugging at the strands like I’ve wanted to for so long until he tears himself away with a growl.
“Off,” he demands, then quickly turns me around so my front is now pressed to the wall as his fingers deftly unclasp my bra. Tugging it down my arms, he tosses it aside, his hands sliding down my back, delivering a light slap to my ass that makes me jump. “These too.”
I shiver, his commands lightening me up, the submissive side I didn’t know I have eager to do as he says. With nervous excitement, I hook my trembling fingers into the waistband of my pants. I’m wound that tight, goosebumps dance across my skin as I slowly pull down my pants.
Wyatt’s hands clutch the sides, tearing them down my legs with a sense of urgency I feel in his accompanying growl, taking my panties with them. He tugs them off my feet, carefully balancing me against him until I’m completely naked in his hallway. Wyatt’s front is to my back, his hands returning to roam down my stomach, taking his sweet fucking time to reach between my legs.
My feet are kicked apart, one and then the other, and he brings his sweatpants-clad thigh between them, his fingers stopping just shy of where I really want him to touch. I moan as my head falls back against his shoulder and his warm breath ghosts the shell of my ear.
“Look at how badly you want me,” he murmurs, his words vibrating against my back. He dips a finger lower, the tip teasing my entrance, playing with my wetness, then drags it up my middle. He circles my clit for the briefest of seconds, the contact making my knees weakening instantly.
Now I know why his thigh is here.
His free hand wraps around my waist, banding up my front, holding me against him as he starts to play with my nipples again. I shake, my desire so potent you could bottle it and sell it for thousands.
“Do you get this wet when you touch yourself thinking about me?”
My breathy moan is my answer. Then a long, languid mewl when his finger flicks against my clit again. With age comes experience, and even though the last time I thought this, jealousy pricked at my insides, none of that’s there now. He’s using it all on me, touching my body like he owns it, and I am close to combusting.
“Please,” I whisper, trying to spread my legs wider, only to find I’m on my tiptoes with little traction to help me get what I want.
He chuckles, the sound low and dangerous, before nipping the lobe of my ear. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t rush me, brat.”
“Me too,” I pant. With my hands splayed out against the wall, my ass rubs against his erection, his chest hot on my back. I flinch, but not from pain, as he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, the sensitive bundle of nerves sending pulses right down to my toes. My pussy clenches, desperate to be filled, by his fingers or his cock, I don’t care, I just need it. “Wyatt,please.”
“You think that because you’ve been wanting this”—he dips his finger inside, but not enough to sate my growing desire—“that means you should get to come?” He’s skirting his finger aroundmy entrance again but never going inside. “Standing in my hall? Naked and needy, when you’ve been nothing but a tease since I met you? Don’t you think it’smyturn to tease you until you snap?”
I could cry. I’m so turned on, with no apparent end to the ache between my legs. Sweat lines my brow as his other hand gives an equal amount of attention to my breasts. His lips trail kisses along my shoulder, the stubble on his jaw burning my skin, and still, I need more.
“One night is not enough time to show you how crazy you make me,” he says, whispering his words against my throat. “But one night is enough time toleaveyou crazy.”
I cry out as two fingers plunge inside me, and I buck against him. His hold tightens, supporting me as he curls his talented digits, driving a moan from deep in my chest. Every part of me trembles as he works his magic, his thumb joining in and rubbing circles on my clit.
The euphoria of winning has nothing on how this man is making me feel. And only with his hand.
He knows what he’s doing, exactly where to touch, the pleasure overriding everything in my brain. I’m unable to stop my release as much as I try, sobs threatening to burst free.
“Wyatt,” I breathe, my eyes slamming shut as my orgasm slams into me quicker and more violently than ever before. I barely have time to catch my breath before he turns me around and wraps my legs around his waist, his lips on mine, kissing me with the fervor of a man who’s never seen the sun.
The sound of wood bangs against the wall as he kicks his bedroom door open, carrying me to his bed. Tossing me to his mattress, he lowers on top of me, continuing his assault on my mouth. His tongue licks and lavishes, tasting every inch like he’s trying to commit it to memory.
I do, too. Store every one of his sounds, the feel of his lips, the scrape of his stubble. He breaks the kiss, leaving me breathless and needier than when we started as he shifts off the bed, turning on a lamp.
Pushing off the bed, I scramble to my elbows, watching his inkless hands looping into the band of his sweats. My face heats as my eyes lower to the thigh with a very noticeable wet patch from where he held me, and he looks down, smirking at the mark before dragging them down his thighs, exposing his tattoos.
Kicking the pants away, he opens his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom and throwing it onto the bed beside me. The world could come to a crashing end, and I wouldn’t notice as I’m stuck, lungs no longer working, brain function gone, watching Wyatt stroke his beautiful cock.
“Holy shit.” My eyes widen as I whisper the exact words I said when I first saw him in the pool. “You don’t have tattoos on your dick.”
His smirk is downright devilish as he wraps a hand around his length and pumps it nice and slow. I bolt upright, my jaw dropping as he twists his hand at the end.
“Holy shit, you have a piercing.”
