Page 18 of Checked Out by the Grinch
Her fingers brush mine and I feel it like a fuse under my skin.
I sit still, jaw tight, muscles locked, afraid to make a move that scares her away. I know the walls she’s built, and though I want to pull her onto my lap, I know we have to move at her pace.
Her scent’s in my lungs, warm and floral, feminine and sweet.
I try to stay composed, trying not to imagine all the filthy things I would do to her. Trying not to think about the way she tastes or the way she’d feel soft and warm as I slid inside of her. Those thoughts don’t matter right now. What matters is trust.
I have to go slow.
She needs steady.
She needs composed, even if my body’s screaming for more.
I let my thumb graze the top of her hand, just enough to let her know I’m here. She shifts beside me like she’s still trying to talk herself out of whatever she’s feeling, but I hear the way her breath changes and feel the way her fingers curl around mine.
A second later, her knee slides over my thigh, then the other until she’s straddling me.
Her eyes are wild and hungry. Her hands are on my shoulders, her face inches from mine.
I still don’t move. I don’t even speak.
“I know I said slow,” she whispers, voice shaking, “but I liked being your little plum.”
I nod once, every muscle in my body straining to stay still. “You want me to take care of you, little plum?”
She nods, just barely, her lips parted, her firm breasts scrubbing against my shirt as she pants for relief. “I want you to take control.”
Fuck.
I grip her hips with firm pressure and pull her against me as the sound of need echoes from her lips. It’s raw and aching, reiterated by the way her fingers clutch my shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” I growl. “You don’t have to think tonight.”
Her forehead drops and her lips brush mine as her thighs tighten around me.
I’m not going to make it.
She lifts her T-shirt off and moves toward my jeans, unzipping and yanking at every bit of fabric between us until there’s nothing left and we’re both naked and exposed on the couch.
The plan is to lift her and carry her to the bedroom, but before I can, she’s lowering her soft little pussy down onto my desperate cock.
“Oh God,” she moans, bouncing on my lap, her hair falling back, her breasts swaying with the tilt of her hips. “You’re huge.”
“And you’re so fucking tight.” I groan out as I lean into her neck and scrape my teeth against her hot flesh. “You feel so damn good wrapped around me.”
She moans softly, grinding her little pussy back and forth in the glow of the tree and the television.
I don’t know what the hell we’re doing. Maybe I should’ve stopped her. Maybe I should’ve made her wait. Maybe she’ll hate me the second this is over.
“Plum, look at me,” I say, my thumb beneath her chin, redirecting her gaze toward mine. It’s difficult to focus, but she needs to know the truth.
Her gaze meets mine, soft and dreamy, her hips still pressing up and down, back and forth, the sway of her tits still hypnotizing me.I’m not going to make it long.
“What?” she pants.
I grip her hips and hold her steady, trying to slow her movements so I don’t explode inside of her. She seems to like this game and grins, which only drives me closer to the edge.
“You’re messing with me,” I growl, holding her tighter.
