I open my mouth to say something ridiculous like maybe one day I'll show you the world, but then I catch myself and run my hand over my face. I'm getting caught up in some strange masculine urge to make this girl my own, and it's freaking me the bloody fuck out.
“What time is it?” Lyric asks finally as I sit back and slide my arm around her shoulders.
“Eager for the night to end?” I joke.
“Not exactly.”
We exchange another look, one that says we both know it's going to eventually. Shouldn't be a big deal, right? I've had plenty of nights with beautiful girls that I was sad to see end, but end they did and we said our good-byes, no harm done. Why the hell should this be any different?
But then I look at Lyric, swimming in my jacket, her dark hair framing her pale face and I know in some small way, it is. If she were any other random girl, I'd probably ask her out a few more times, see if this feeling I'm having is a fluke, just some side effect from having mind blowing sex with a girl that I actually find interesting.
I turn towards her then, leaning forward, my mouth hovering over hers. I really should shut this shit down before I get myself into trouble. Mayor's daughter. What a load of rubbish.
I start to pull away, but she catches me again with those big green eyes and those sexy curved lips of hers. Ah, bugger it. I wrap my finger's in Lyric's hair and kiss with reckless abandon, like I'm a man with nothing to lose, no responsibilities, no ties. Even though that's a lie, it feels fucking fantastic, especially when she leans into me, making small sounds in the back of her throat. God yes. I could live for this shit.
After a few moments, she comes up for air, scooting away from me and standing up, the black cotton fabric of my shirt just barely covering those bride-gone-bad white lacy panties of hers. I sit back and watch as she lifts the hem up and grabs hold of her underwear, sliding them down and dropping them to the wood of the deck.
“Do you like what you see, Royal?” she asks, mimicking me. There's a slight hesitation there, like maybe some random bloke at some point made a comment he shouldn't have. If I ever found out it was that blond douche FBI agent, I'd hunt him down myself and make quick work of him.
“Are you taking the piss?” I ask, eyeing her up and down, my cock hard enough that it hurts. Lyric gives me a weird look and I grin. “I'm asking if you're joking, you daft Yank.”
“Screw you,” she says, but she's watching me watching her, cheeks flushed with desire, pupils dilated. When she takes a step towards me, I stand up, too, dropping my drawers to the deck and smiling as she sweeps my body with her gaze.
“Like what you see, Pint-Size?”
“You must be taking the piss,” she mimics and I laugh, reaching out and grabbing her around the waist, pulling her against me as the shirt rides up, exposing her bare ass to the evening air. We stare at each other for a moment longer and then I step away, sitting back down on the wood swing and dragging her onto my lap so that she's straddling my thighs.
“You look so fucking hot in my jacket, babe,” I say, reaching in and pulling out a condom from the front pocket. Always be prepared, that's my motto.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she whispers, but not like she's jealous, just stating a fact. I think about that for a moment and then shake my head, shrugging my shoulders.
“No,” I tell her honestly, “I really don't.” Because I don't really just shrug my cut onto the shoulders of any random girl. Goddamn it. Dober was completely and utterly correct; I am a fucking dumb shit.
I ignore that train of thought because tonight, this is all we get. Her world, my world—oil and water. I tear open the wrapper and enjoy knowing that Lyric has a front row seat right now, watching intently as I roll the latex down my shaft with a groan. I really am hard enough that it hurts, like there's an ache in my body that'll kill me if I don't quench its thirst.
Settling my hands at her hips, I help her lift up on her knees and position herself against my cock, our eyes locked as she slides down the length of me, pressing our bodies together with a small gasp of pleasure.
“Ride me, Lyric,” I say as she settles her hands on my shoulders, nails biting into my skin as she squeezes tight, moving her hips in a slow rhythm that gently rocks the porch swing. I keep my hands tight on either side of her waist, groaning as her pussy strokes my cock, drawing pleasure out of me in waves. With the sound of the ocean and the sliver of moon in the night sky as our backdrop, I think this is the most romantic thing I've ever done, and I don't fucking do romance.
“Lyric,” I moan her name again as she closes her eyes, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of her face. When I lean forward and lick it off in a single stroke, she cries out, dropping her right hand down to her clit and rubbing the swollen flesh with her fingers. Lyric's muscles tighten around me like steel bands, squeezing me tight and refusing to let go, pausing her movements with just the head of my cock inside of her. She freezes there, panting as she tries to catch her breath. I keep hold of her waist and ease her back down, drawing a pleasured cry from her throat as I grit my teeth and feel my own body fighting for release.