Page 12 of The P Arrangement

“Please, Pres.”

He looked up at me. “Please what, Laney?”

My chest heaving, I debated on saying anything. After all, in the past, it had gotten me nowhere.

Preston circled my clit with his tongue. “Please what?” he whispered, and I gave in.

“Please make me come. Please fuck me. Please just do something to end this torture.”

With a chuckle, he flicked my nub and wrapped his mouth around it. Then, he did the thing that we both loved. With his top lip over my piercing, he put my clit in between it and his tongue and sucked as he hummed.

My back arched off the table as I flew over the edge a second time that night.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I yelled, not caring if my voice was loud enough to wake a sleeping child.

I was still coming off my climactic high when he lifted his head and used one hand to rip open his pants. He wrapped his fists around the top of my thighs as he yanked me to the edge and practically impaled me on his thick cock.

“Fuck.” Preston held me to him as he paused and looked up at the ceiling.

He’d gotten rid of his tie long ago, but his dress shirt was still open, and I stared in amazement and lust as his tanned chest heaved beneath it.

I pushed myself up and kissed his bare skin on one pectoral and then the next.

His dick jerked inside me, and I smiled.

Tracing my lips across his clavicle, I made my way up to his ear and whispered, “Fuck me, Preston. Fuck me so hard—”

Preston shoved me down, dropping over me as he withdrew, and slammed back into me.

“Yes,” I cried out, clutching at his back.

Cupping my head in his hands, he held us nose to nose as he relentlessly drove into me, thrust after thrust, in the perfect position for my piercing to rub my clit to make me come.

“I want to come in you, Laney.”

I nodded.

“Do I have anything to worry about?”

Confused, I shook my head. If he was concerned about STIs, it was too late since he wasn’t using any protection. And he couldn’t be concerned about pregnancy. He had already taken care of that.

“No,” I answered anyway.

I had only been with two men since our divorce, one time each—neither had me wanting a repeat performance—and I’d used condoms with both of them and gotten tested afterward.

“Good,” he growled and kissed me.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I tasted myself on him.

He lifted his mouth, his gaze full of determination. “Because I want to coat your cunt with my cum until I’m leaking out of you.”

I whimpered and tightened around him involuntarily.

“You want that too, huh?” It wasn’t really a question. “Slutty Delaney wants me to come inside her. She wants me to mark her with my seed.” He dropped his forehead to mine, looked me in the eye, and said the words he knew would get me off. “That’s because she’s my slut.”

Crying out, I dug my nails into Preston’s back so hard that it probably ruined my overly expensive manicure, but I couldn’t care less. The orgasm that ripped through every nerve in my body was worth it as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.

Preston kissed me again, still holding my head, as he shoved into me one last time, hurtling himself over the edge with me and flooding my pussy with his cum.

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