Dirty Sexy Player by Laurelin Paige
But I was desperate to be sure. “Is it… Is it for me?”
“All for you, baby. Only you.” He nipped at my neck, his hands moving upward to cup my breasts underneath my nightgown. “Three long months of watching you prance around left me with a hard-on that doesn’t ever ease up.” He rocked his dick against me so I could feel every bit of his painful erection. “Tell me you’ve wanted this too.”
“I’ve wanted you,” I confessed breathily. “From the moment you got down on your knees for my fake proposal. I wanted you then, and every day since.”
He hissed as if that admission was painful. “Too long,” he said. “Too long.”
He drew one hand down over the flat of my stomach and slid beneath the waistband of my panties. “A landing strip,” he sighed as his touch brushed over the thin column of hair above my folds. “It’s been killing me, not knowing.”
My knees buckled at the thought of him imagining this. Imagining it in such detail that he’d needed to know if I trimmed, if I waxed. If I was au natural.
He caught me with his arm around my waist while the other went deeper, slipping easily to find the sensitive bundle of nerves awaiting him. Swiftly, expertly, he began rubbing me toward ecstasy. Staccato gasps escaped from my lips.
“You like that? Does it feel good?” He rubbed his cock again between my ass cheeks while he massaged my clit, first slow in one direction, then quick in another. “You don’t deserve this, because you’ve teased me for so long. You don’t deserve this, but I’m going to let you come because I’m a nice guy. Tell me I’m a nice guy to let you come.”
The tension was already building, I was already nearing the edge.
But even in the throes of passion, I did not surrender. “No.”
“You don’t want to come?” His fingers kept swirling across my clit, making me dizzy.
“You’re not a nice guy. You’re an asshole.”
Immediately, Weston took his hands off me and stepped back. I whirled around, my palms flattening back against the wall, and faced him down. He hadn’t gone too far, and was rubbing at the bulge in his pants. But I worried now that he was going to give up, abandon me.
“You said you were going to fuck me.” Was it a challenge? An accusation? I was too strung out on the memory of his fingers down my panties to tell, and so desperate for them to return.
He nodded. “Oh, I am. Take this off.” He stepped forward and grabbed my nightie, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the ground before stepping back again to admire me.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said more to himself than to me, stroking up and down over his imprisoned cock.
And then I was tired of looking. I’d been watching him, been looking for too long—months too long. I wanted to be touching.
I closed the distance between us and grabbed for his belt. He laughed, rough and cruel, his hands coming down flat across my back and smoothing all the way down to my ass cheeks.
“Eager to find something there?” he asked, his teeth grazing along my neck.
I was too focused on my task to answer. I had the buckle undone and now was working on his zipper.
“Didn’t get enough from your peep show last night?”
I froze, my hand now on the shape of his cock outside his boxer briefs. He’d seen me?
“I saw your reflection in the window. Watched you watching me as I stroked myself.” He pushed my panties down my butt cheeks so he could press his fingers between my thighs, and into the slick wetness along my crotch. “I was so pissed you didn’t come and join me. I had to say someone else’s name, just to punish you, even though the whole time I was thinking about you.”
He’d seen me. And he’d lied.
I felt relieved and murderous all at once. Relieved and off-the-charts aroused.
“I told you you aren’t a nice guy.” I reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped my fingers around the silky smooth skin of his hard erection, fulfilling my own fantasy from the night before. My blood shot hot down to my pussy.
“You’re right. I’m not nice.” He stuck a long finger inside me from behind, and I moaned. “I’m still going to let you come. Because I want to see you fall apart.”
His words made me shiver and this time when he stroked inside me, his thumb brushed against my clit. And another shaky moan escaped my lips.
His cock jerked in my hand.
“You like making me feel good,” I said, moving my hand up and down the length of him.
“I like torturing you,” he corrected. He backed us up and spun me around until I was facing the kitchen island. He pressed his hand down on my upper back so that I would bend over it.
“Spread your legs,” he said as he knelt down behind me. I spread my legs and stretched my arms across the island.
Weston pulled my panties the rest of the way off my legs. Then he grabbed my ankles and ran his hands up my calves, then moved them inside my knees and up my inner thighs until they were right where I wanted them. And then it wasn’t his hands, but his mouth. His tongue. I jumped at the first warm swipe of his rough tongue across my slit.
He followed with a quick swat of his hand on the outside of my thigh.
“Oh,” I squealed, then glared at him over my shoulder.
He dimpled at me. “Don’t move, or I’ll smack you again.” He kept his eyes on mine as he lowered his head back to my pussy, his hand rubbing away the sting where he’d slapped me.
The thing was, the sting of the smack felt good, especially with the added rub afterwards. And the way his tongue moved along me combined with the lingering hurt to give me pleasure I didn’t know I needed—so maybe I did a little more writhing on purpose.
“You liked that.” He smacked me again on the other cheek, rubbing it away immediately, and I hummed as he did. He echoed my moan against my pussy and my knees nearly went out from underneath me. It was a good thing I was holding onto the island. Especially when the tip of his tongue reached out to my brush my clit with feather-like strokes.
I swear I started to purr.
He anchored his hands on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as his tongue made its way from my clit down to my hole in long luscious strokes. And then, just when I didn’t think I could take it anymore, he pushed his tongue inside me, as far as his fingers had been. He was fast and strong, licking against my G spot, tongue-fucking me until I began to see spots in front of my eyes. He let go of my side and began to rub my clit with the pad of his thumb. I bucked my hips against the island, trying to get away from him, trying to get closer. Trying to get away. I couldn’t tell what I wanted except that he was completely in control of giving it to me, and that scared the shit out of me.
He hooked his arms around me at my hips, though, so that I couldn’t move and dove even deeper with his tongue, and that was when I finally reached the top. Unable to escape, having to stay there through the torment, having to give into his wicked attack.
“Holy shit,” my teeth were chattering. “Holy shit, holy shit. I’m going to come.” And I wasn’t just saying it, I was actually doing it. My whole body was trembling and shaking, my legs and my arms and my knees and my insides as I groaned out a guttural sound I’d never made before.
Weston kept licking me until I was done. Until he’d coaxed the very last bit of my climax from my body, and I felt good everywhere.
When I was completely spent, he stood and pulled me to him, my back to his front. He still had his pants mostly on, but the warmth of his chest against my back sent shivers down my body. I could feel his cock again at the crack of my ass, but this time it was bare and begging for a warm place to nest.
“I need to be inside you,” he said at my ear. I turned my face and his mouth was waiting to devour mine. I kissed him, kissed the taste of myself off of him until it mingled with whatever taste had been in my mouth before, until I couldn’t distinguish what was him and what was me.
When he broke away, I was breathless.
“
“Yes,” I said, because I needed that too, and because it was all I could say. “Yes.”
“Should I stop for a condom?” he asked.
I didn’t want to stop for anything. “Do you usually suit up?”
“Every time. Every single time.” He rubbed the head of his dick up and down across my slit, so close to where I needed him. It was distracting. But I still heard what he said—heard what he meant.
That this was the first time he’d ever suggested not using a condom with a woman.
If he’d worn one with everyone else, there was no need for him to wear one with me. I had an implant. I couldn’t get pregnant. Because of that stubborn streak I had, though, my first impulse was to say no, to tell him to go grab one.
But a bigger part of me embraced that desire I had to be different from everyone else, from every other woman he’d been with. Because I was so desperate to stand out from his crowd of women. To be the one unlike the others in his eyes.
“You’re my fiancé. And I’m on birth control. I think at this point in a relationship we would not be using a condom.”
It seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear, and next thing I knew he was bending just a little bit, and I could feel his cock at my entrance. Then the tip was inside me, and then all of him was thrusting forward, in, and up.
We both grunted as he fed himself in completely.
“Holy shit, Elizabeth. You feel even better than I imagined.” He bent his mouth to kiss me again, his hands gripping my breasts like handholds while he bucked into me over and over and over again. Each stroke came fast and deep, stretching and filling me.
I turned my mouth away from him to catch a breath, and he sucked down my neck, murmuring as he did. “So tight. So fucking hot.”
Then he got bossy. “Touch yourself. You need to come again.”
It felt so good, just having his cock rub inside me, and I was already so drained from the first orgasm. “I can’t.”
“You have to. I have to make you come again. Touch yourself, or I’m going to stop.”
As if he didn’t trust me, he took one of his hands off my breasts and used it to direct my hand down to my clit. Then he helped me touch myself, two fingers from him, two fingers from me, rubbing together in my juices, swirling around my sensitive bud. His other hand tweaked at my nipple, pulling it and tugging at it, sending sharp twinges of pleasure-pain down to my pussy. Then there was the slap slap slap from the top of his thighs against the bottom of my ass, and the clink of his belt as it rattled with each thrust. I couldn’t come again. But it was all so fucking hot, so goddamn sexy.
And I was coming again. Tightening around his cock, pulsing, and keening.
“Just like that,” he coaxed. “Fall apart, just like that.”
This time when I finished, he turned me toward him and lifted me up so that my legs wrapped around his waist.
“Take me to bed,” I said, half begging.
He nodded once. “Whose bed do you want to go to?”
“Yours.”
It wasn’t just that it was closer, but also, in the midst of all the hormonal fireworks, I was able to rationalize that it would be the bed I could leave when I needed to. And I’d have to leave it eventually.
But I wasn’t thinking about that now. Now, I wasn’t thinking at all.
Weston’s room felt like miles away as he carried me with his cock between us, rubbing against my sensitive clit. Even just after my orgasm, I wanted him back inside me. I knew it was another form of torture, and while it was torturing him as well, it had to be pleasing him more to know what it was doing to me.
We kissed as we walked, little mewling sounds escaping from the back of my throat, sounds of need. Sounds of begging. I begged for mercy. Mercy that I didn’t deserve, mercy I prayed he’d give me.
Once in his room, he tossed me onto the mattress and turned on the bedside lamp so I could see him, so he could see me. The bed frame in his room was high off the ground, and after he finished undressing, when he tugged my thighs to bring me to the edge of the bed, we were nearly lined up. I only had to lift my hips slightly to be able to reach him.
I bucked up before he even asked, impatient, greedy.
He chuckled, his dimples mocking me. “More?” he taunted, grazing his fingers across my wet slit. “You already need more?”
I propped myself up on my elbows and stared at him, my eyes saying what my voice was unwilling to. Please, please. More, more.
He rubbed the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing me by sticking it just barely inside before pulling out. I lurched forward, trying to get what I craved.
“You can’t have it until you ask. Until you tell me what you want. Until you tell me I’m what you want.” With his hand, he continued to rub up and down my slit, making wide circles around my electric bundle of nerves.
Goddammit, he was going to make me do it. Why was I so stubborn?
“Give it to me,” I uttered. Would that be enough? I put my hand down to where I wanted him, landing on the spot he was purposefully avoiding, but he quickly swatted me away.
“Not good enough. Tell me it’s me. Tell me it’s my cock you want.” He pushed just the tip in again, circling his hips so that I could feel him everywhere around the mouth of my entrance. I gasped, and he pulled out again.
“Fuck,” I cried at his absence, my resolve crumbling in the face of my need. “It’s you. Your fucking cock, Weston. Goddamn fucking asshole. Your fucking cock is what I want. Now get it in me.”
With a satisfied grunt, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and thrust in hard, deep. He drove into me over and over and over again, showing me how magnificent his body was, how much he wanted me, needed me. I was mesmerized in the moment and swept away with waves of pleasure at once, swept away in watching him, in knowing how much he enjoyed being watched.
He lifted me higher, and my breasts began to bounce uncontrollably with his thrusts. I had the self-conscious urge to cover them up until I realized that Weston’s gaze was trained on them, his eyelids half-closed like he was drugged from the erotic sight.
And he had other plans for my hands.
“Play with yourself,” he gritted out, directing me to move my fingers to my pussy. “You need to come before I do.”
I was already close to the brink; it wouldn’t take long. I moved my hand down and only a couple of brushes of my two fingers—up and down, up and down—and then I was exploding, the tightening in my pelvis and my thighs transforming into strong bursts of cold-hot pleasure soaring down my legs into my toes, through my belly and torso, escaping up my throat in a hoarse, raspy cry of murmured curses and words that meant nothing mixed with words that meant everything—Weston’s name and God’s.
Weston sweetly coaxed me through my total abandonment. “You’re so gorgeous when you come apart. So beautiful, baby. Let go. Just like that. You turn me on so much. Just like that.” His fingers were digging into my thighs. And he was lifting up my legs higher until his body stuttered, his pelvis stilling against mine, as his face twisted into a new expression of anguish and delight. His orgasm was accompanied with a long wrenching groan that made me shake, its sound so erotic and primal.
Then he was finished.
He collapsed onto the bed beside me. We laid there for several minutes, me half off the bed, both of us on top of the bedspread. Though my body was finally still, my thoughts were now racing, circling so fast I couldn’t keep any one thread in view. So I focused on my lungs and air and the in and the out of breathing.
After a few silent minutes, when my heart rate was beginning to settle, he sat, and I sat up with him. Then he stood, and I followed suit, awkward, not knowing how I was supposed to act. He pulled down the bedspread and the sheet, and I turned to leave. What else was there to do? He hadn’t said a word to me, and I hadn’t said a word to him. I’d never done this before. Never done casual sex. How did it work?
Running aw
But before I could get too far, he wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me back. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I shrugged, unable to look at his eyes. His beautiful eyes that could always see right into me. “To my room?”
He pulled me closer until I was flush against him, his body warming mine, which was cooling with the sweat that had glistened all over me from our fucking. He kissed the top of my head, wrapping both arms around me now. “But if you go to your room, then I can’t fuck you when I wake up in the middle of the night.”
I relaxed, leaning into him. Then he wanted me again, as much as I wanted him. I cautiously lifted my gaze to his. “I don’t know how to do this,” I confessed.
He raised a brow, questioning.
“I’ve only ever slept with guys who were my boyfriend.”
His mouth curled up ever so slightly, and he rubbed his thumb along my bottom lip. “And what would you do with your boyfriend, after you had amazing mind-blowing sex?”
Well, I’d never had amazing mind-blowing sex before. Just regular sex. But I let my mind wander back to those occasions, trying to remember the usual pattern after making love. “I guess...whoever would usually just hold me.”
Weston let go of me.
I thought for a moment I’d scared him off, but he climbed in the bed and scooted over enough so that there was room for me. Then he reached his arm out inviting me into it. “Come on then. If that’s what your boyfriend would do, I imagine that’s what your fiancé would do, too.”
My breath caught somewhere in my chest, trapped under the sudden expansion of my heart. I managed a quiet, “Okay.” Then I turned off the bedside lamp, crawled into his arms, laid my head on his chest, let him wrap himself around me, and fell quickly asleep.
* * *
He woke me in the early hours, climbing on top of me in the dark and easily slipping his cock into my entrance, as though he’d already memorized the way. We spoke no words, the only sounds the quiet gasps and moans of pleasure as he moved inside me, less furious, but still driven. I traced my fingers along his chest and shoulders, admiring every part of his solid form above me. Wanting him even as I had him. Wanting more of him. Wanting all of him.