What if she just couldn’t handle something like that? She could already tell how wet she’d gotten—and for something so small. They weren’t even face-to-face, for God’s sake, and though he had his hands on her and she had her mouth on him, it still seemed tame.
Or it did until he started really pressing back against her. At which point she realized he wasn’t just leaning into her greedy mouth. He was rolling his hips in a kind of slow, obvious rhythm. As if he could feel someone above him, sliding down on his probably stiff, swollen cock.
And she simply didn’t know what to make of that, on any level. It was undoubtedly the naughtiest thing she’d ever seen or been a part of—like sex, only fully clothed and back to front—but it didn’t make her want to back away.
Instead she thought of what it would be like to simply crawl around his body and straddle him. Maybe shove her panties aside and just slide down on that thick thing. Of course there was always the chance he’d try to stop her if she did, but more and more it seemed as though he didn’t want to do anything of the sort.
The longer she went at this, the looser and more relaxed about it he appeared to become. He even turned his head after a little while and found her mouth with his, kissing in a way that forced a fresh flood of slickness to soak through her already embarrassingly wet panties.
He did it with a lot of tongue. And he kind of moaned at the same time, though the moans didn’t stop at her mouth. They vibrated down, down through her body to her oh-so-sensitive nipples and her swollen sex, searching out that little bud that she never on pain of death touched.
Okay, maybe she’d touched it a little bit, sometimes. But nothing she’d ever done made it pulse like this, like a second heartbeat between her legs. And oh it got worse when she saw him do something he clearly didn’t intend her to. He likely thought she had her eyes closed, because by now she absolutely knew that doing so was what you were supposed to do when you made out with someone.
But somehow she couldn’t stop herself looking every now and then, at the way his dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. At the long curve of his throat as he bent back to kiss her harder, wetter, fiercer.
Then finally the utterly rude thing. The thing she shouldn’t be seeing—one of his big hands sliding down over his own body, to squeeze that thick, jutting shape inside his jeans.
She almost gasped when he did it. It just didn’t seem like the sort of thing he usually indulged in—Van was restrained, and careful, and cautious. Up until that point she hadn’t really imagined him doing some of the perverted things she did, like the mattress humping and the hand between her legs and the rubbing she was currently doing all over his back.
But clearly he wanted to do those things, at least. And suddenly her head flooded with a million images, of Van on some seedy bed somewhere, covers kicked around his thighs, that big, stiff thing in his hand. Working it and working it and maybe saying her name.
Though the thought wasn’t quite as arousing as another one that occurred, as he pushed the heel of his palm right down over his obviously aching erection. He’d left in the same state last time, as desperate as he felt right now, so what if maybe…what if he couldn’t wait until he got to his apartment?
What if he’d just done it right there in the alley behind the houses. One hand shoved into his jeans. Head back. All of those sharp darts of pleasure going through him until finally, finally…
“Lay down and spread your legs. Lay down, baby.”
She froze against him, still in the middle of doing something embarrassing—like dry-humping his back. Had he really just said that? Did he seriously want her to…to…what?
Spread your legs her mind informed her, as clear as a bell, while the words themselves trickled down, down her body to meet that thrumming bud. The one that just wouldn’t shut up, no matter what she did.
God, he was going to do it. He’d had enough of waiting, and now he wanted her to do those three deliriously filthy words so he could get his cock out and slide into that hot, sweet ache between her legs.
Was it bad, if she couldn’t get there fast enough? After an initial moment of hesitation she found herself scrambling, skirt getting caught underneath her, every body part shaking and shaking and shaking.
He was going to do it. She could tell when he shifted around on the couch, because that thing now looked pretty much torturous. It jutted out so sharply between his legs that she could make out almost everything about it through the heavy material—how broad it looked at the tip, and oh Lord how impossibly long.
It was almost definitely going to hurt, going in. He wasn’t small even by her standards, which were basically based on some vague pictures she’d seen in biology textbooks and that one time Ricky Trebecki had run out of the boy’s locker rooms stark naked.