The Absolutely True Story of Us by Melanie Marchande

Author:Melanie Marchande [Marchande, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

"Tell me now if you don't want this." His voice rasps in my ear, and it's a useless thing to say because he knows I can't. I'm incapable. I moan softly as his fingers finally slip underneath the waistband of my panties, sliding down and dipping in just enough to feel how hot and wet I am.

I'm beyond turned on, and he knows it. I both hear and feel the sharp intake of breath as he explores my swollen lips, fingers finally stroking along either side of the hard bud at the apex. I cry out softly, knees buckling.

I wonder if he's thinking about the fact that I was never like this before. Not for him. He's never felt me this needy, never experienced my body turned up to such a fever pitch.

"You want to come?" he asks, softly, almost sing-songy like this is some kind of fucking game. It's not about what I want anymore. I'm aching, deep in my pelvis - is this what it feels like when girls get blue balls?

"Fuck you," I grit out, and he chuckles.

His fingers press harder against my most sensitive spot, and I gasp, pressing my ass against him, feeling his cock twitch heavily in response. He ruts against me for a moment, seeming to lose himself, before he remembers that he's supposed to be teasing me.

"All right, then," he pants, and I begin to realize he's almost in the same state I am. Fuck if that doesn't take me a notch higher, my blood pulsing in my veins, head swimming. "Come for me."

He rubs slowly but firmly, in little circles. Normally I need more. More speed, more rhythm, just more. But this isn't normal. I clench deep inside, and he starts moving against me, really thrusting in earnest this time, as the sparks go off behind my closed eyelids and I shout wordlessly, supported only by his arm around my waist, holding me up.

I come for so long I forget my own name.

His hips stutter against me and I start to regain my awareness of reality. I know what those sharp breaths in my ear mean.

"Dean," I whisper, intending to tell him to wait just a second, because he just gave me the best orgasm of my life and he deserves better than dry-humping. I want him inside me.

But he just groans incoherently, and I know I'm too late. Even through the leather I can feel him pulsing and swelling as he spills his come, and yeah, it's a little bit intoxicating that I turned him on as much as he turned me on. So much he couldn't wait, couldn't even undress enough to jerk off onto me. All he could do was rut against me like we're wild animals, desperation taking over and ruining all semblance of good sense.

It's more than a little intoxicating.

"I was going to tell you to fuck me," I gasp, still out of breath somehow.

"Sorry," he mutters. "I'll get back to you about that in about twenty minutes.

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