Page 18 of Screwing With The Scrooge

I want to ask her, but my cock is begging me to shut up and explore those curves that we’ve been picturing for months.

My hands cradle her face and she leans into my touch. Her mouth meets mine and I moan as she slips her tongue into my mouth. She shifts next to me and I reach for her instinctively. She swings a leg over mine and straddles me.

“Olive,” I groan, my fingers tightening on her hips as she settles over me.

“I ache,” she moans, and I’m spurred into action.

I need to give this girl anything that she needs. It’s a necessity to me, like air. I want to be her man. I want to be the only one that she aches for. I want to take it away as many times as she’ll let me.

I tug the soft fabric of her dress up to her hips and she wiggles on top of me. I grit my teeth, willing myself not to come as she pulls the zipper down. I tug the dress over her head and my eyes slam closed.

I think about being shot, about being deployed, anything except for Olive’s perfect body on top of mine.

When I blink my eyes open, she’s watching me, her face flushed. She’s wearing black lace and I want to tear it off of her and bury my tongue, fingers, and cock inside of her until she screams.

“Xavier,” she begs, and I drag her mouth back to mine as my other hand explores her body.

She arches against me, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt.

“Rip it,” I order her, and she blinks, a hot smirk coming to her lips as she looks up at me.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She tears at either side of the fabric, sending buttons flying.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she admits, and I nod.

“You can do it to all of my shirts,” I promise her, and she laughs, her mouth smiling as she presses a kiss to my throat.

I want to tell her that I’m not joking, but her hands are on my bare skin, and I reach for her instead.

I unhook her bra, groaning as her tits spill out. They fit perfectly in my hands, and I run my thumbs over her hard nipples until she’s gasping and squirming on top of me.

She frowns down at my jeans and I stand, dumping her onto the couch cushions as I unbutton and push my jeans and boxers down.

“Damn,” she breathes, her eyes locked on my dick.

I’m worried that maybe I’ve moved too fast, that maybe she’s about to change her mind. I debate reaching for my boxers at least, but before I can move, Olive has slid off of the couch and is kneeling before me.

“I might be terrible at this,” she warns, and I swallow.

“You’re already doing amazing.”

She smiles, emboldened by my words, and I watch, standing still as a statue as she wraps her fingers around my length.

She looks up at me from under her lashes, and I swear that I almost come from that look alone.

“Perfect,” I whisper, and she rewards me with a single pump.

Her creamy skin is on full display, and I’m not sure where to look first. Her tits are swaying gently as she shuffles forward, her mouth even with my cock now.

She licks her lips, and I groan. When she wraps her lips around me, her tongue flicking over the tip of my dick, I bite down so hard on my cheek that I taste blood.

I’m not going to last, but when I look down at Olive, she looks so happy. I grit my teeth, determined to last a little longer at least.

Her head bobs on my length, and I swallow hard, my breathing turning ragged as I watch her.

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