His eyes never leave mine, and he begins to slowly stroke himself.
“Just looking at you is enough, Dee,” he groans, his body tightening.
I breathe unsteadily, let the straps of my dress fall lower.
“Show yourself to me now,” he says. No, he orders.
I pull the dress lower down, and my breasts come into view, and he sucks in air, and his body goes tighter still, and he begins to pump himself faster.
“God damn I love your breasts,” he growls, stepping closer to me. “Now pull your dress up.”
I reach for the sleeves hung down my shoulders, but he stops me with a sharp command.
“No, not there. Lower.”
“Oh, you meant there,” I tease.
I reach down, and begin to pull my dress up, over my knees, and his cobalt eyes eat up the sight of my skin. Just by looking at me he makes me tingle, raises my temperature, makes me feel so sexy.
I see nothing but desire for me in his eyes.
Duncan strokes his manhood, leans back a little, crunches his stomach.
“Higher,” he groans.
I pull the dress higher.
“Now spread those sexy thighs. Let me see you.”
I open my legs for him, my dress now bunched around my hips, and it’s like he can’t take it anymore, like something snaps.
He comes to me fast, takes my lips, claims them, pulls moans from my mouth while he kisses me fiercely, while he massages my breasts and thumbs my nipples.
I grab onto him with my legs and pull his hips toward me, and I mewl when I feel him at my entrance through my underwear.
“You’re so hard,” I whisper at him, reaching down and holding him.
“It’s you, Dee. Always.”
He kisses me again, this time just my lower lip, and when I try to kiss him back, try to taste him again, he pulls away, that sexy-as-sin smirk bringing his lips to one side.
“Don’t move,” he says, and I obey him. He traces a finger down in between my breasts, lower still, and a soft moan escapes my mouth as I feel his hand on my thigh, coming up to my center. He cups my sex, and I gasp.
His fingers run up either side of me, and when he brushes against my clit I jolt on the deck chair. He pulls his hand up farther still, over my mound, and then slips it into my underwear, squeezes my lips down there together.
Unconsciously, I lift my hips to him, bite my lip, stare into his eyes, beg him silently to make me feel good.
He traces a finger up my sex, makes me sigh as ripples of sensation course through me, and then starts to massage my bud, rubs it in circles, makes me feel like I’m in heaven.
“Mmm,” I moan. “I like that.”
“Put your arms up,” he tells me, and so I obey, lift my hands over my head, look him in his gorgeous eyes.
He inhales sharply, and I watch as his eyes wander over me, eat up the sight of me, from my underarms to my breasts, to my neck, to my lips.
“Come and kiss me,” I whisper.
He leans into me, and just when he touches his lips to mine he pushes his finger all the way inside me, and I moan out, unable to concentrate on kissing him.
He takes my lower lip, sucks on it, bites it while he fingers me, and when he slides a second finger in, I feel stretched around him, undulate my hips, rock myself to his rhythm.
“You like that?” he asks, bringing his thumb to my clit, making me feel all kinds of bliss with just his one hand.
“I like it.”
“Say it again.”
“I like it,” I breathe, taking his lips into mine again, pushing my tongue into his mouth.
He fingers me so deftly, brings me racing right to the edge so quickly, and I feel so tight, a coiled spring waiting to be sprung.
“Wait,” I pant, pulling up, shifting my body. “Too fast. Not yet.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come at the same time as you.”
He climbs onto the deck chair, bends my knees then crosses one over the other, and leans over me. He pulls my underwear to the side, and his tip touches my entrance, and with his arms on either side of me, he waits there, looks me in the eyes.
“Come on,” I breathe at him.
He leans his weight against my knees, presses them to my chest, and then ever so slowly he inches into me.
I grip at his shoulders, dig my nails into his flesh as he stretches me, as he pushes himself so gradually into me, filling me up.
“Oh God,” I pant, clamping my eyes shut, my body tensing up.
“Jesus, you’re tight, Dee,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good.”
I reach out to his hips, run my hands up his strong waist, pull him toward me.
“Come on,” I whisper, practically beg.
“Ask me again,” he says, stopping.
“Come on!” I hiss, and he thrusts all the way inside me, bottoms out, pulls a cry of overwhelming pleasure from my lips.