His hand moves up to my back and he pulls my chest into him, our bodies still thrusting into each other, the slickness of my pussy riding him through all that fabric. My breasts are pushed up to the top of his chest, just below his chin, and it doesn’t take him long to see the proximity of that.
He pulls down the shoulder of my dress just so it’s hanging on the side of my arm. He looks down at my breasts, rising and falling with my intense breathing from so much touching, so fast. “You are unbelievable,” he mutters as he runs his hand across the top of my chest, an inch from my breast. I arch my back, eager for the touch that’s so close I can feel his breath on me. I want him to pull down the fabric of my dress, free my breasts so that he can take them up in his hands and, God, his mouth. But he won’t give me more. Instead he lets his fingertips drift back and forth, one finger barely drifting into my cleavage. I arch up into him again, desperate.
“Please,” I say, the word coming out of me in a breath. “Jackson, please touch me.” I grind my hips down into him again to show him how much my body needs him. I press my hands into the back of his neck, showing him, guiding him. But Jackson doesn’t take orders. He moves his hand away from my chest and down onto my bare thigh.
He runs his hand up my burning skin, his thick fingers pressing into me as we continue to grind into each other, desperate to find some relief. Apparently he’s unwilling to give it, at least not yet. I don’t know how far he intends to take this, but my body is acting out of its own need and I have no desire to slow it down, especially when Jackson’s hand slides up under my dress and squeezes my ass. Our breathing is heavy, mixed with one another and I so desperately want to cry out but am fully aware that there’s a restaurant full of people just outside that door. As we push into each other harder, Jackson puts both hands on my ass, under my dress, on my bare skin and yanks me up on him, grunting softly as he does. His hands pull my butt cheeks apart, the lips of my pussy throbbing even more as they too widen over his steel-hard cock. I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the pleasure that’s all over my body, and the intense ache that it needs more. I need more. And apparently Jackson does too.
His hands stay where they are and he stretches his lips up to mine and our mouths crash together, tongues desperately deepening into one another’s mouth to get more out of each other. No man has ever made me feel more passionate and full of need than Jackson Croft, right in this moment.
My arms pull him into me, my breasts still frantic for him to take hold of my breasts. Finally he can’t wait anymore and, with our mouths still melded together, he yanks the dangling sleeve down further until my nipple is just exposed.
He takes me in his hand, holding and pressing into me, so good that I want to cry his name. A little weep escapes my throat and goes into his mouth where are tongues are slipping every which way, feeling everything.
When he pulls away from me I want to yank him back, but that capable mouth of his is finally on my tit, covering my exposed nipple. He sucks and pulls on it as I hug his head to my chest, rocking into him and still trying not scream out. His teeth tug on my hard nipple before his tongue quickly laps over it again. I can’t believe it’s possible to make me any wetter but he manages, taunting and teasing me until I feel like I can’t take it anymore.
And then he goes even further.
With his mouth still on me, his hand moves down my stomach, over my hip and across my thigh. He moves up my inner thigh while working his tongue over my nipple, and runs his hand over my crotch.
“God I can feel through you,” he says, slowly rubbing his fingers back and forth. “I can feel how wet you are. You’re fucking soaking.”
I’m already flush from the heat of him, from the burning he makes me feel, but those words of his make me blush in a way that has nothing to do his touch. It’s crazy that I’m not at all shy about grinding down on his dick, but knowing he knows how wet he’s made me suddenly makes me feel timid.
“I’ve made you this wet,” he says, rubbing his fingers across the thin fabric. He pauses to circle my hard nub with the tip of his middle finger. “Didn’t I?”
My eyes are closed to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands. “Yes,” I say.
“You came storming into my office all self-righteous. Now look at you,” he says, continuing his gentle rubbing. “You’re desperate for me. Your pussy wants me. I did this to you. Tell me I did.”
“Yes. You did this,” I say, wondering what more he wants of me. He’s got me. “Please.”