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Before I can say anything else, or push him to share with me, his rough hands grab me. His touch is gentle, but there’s a feral quality in his eyes that begs me to give into him. He needs me to submit to him and I’m going to give him exactly what he needs.
He positions me until I’m straddled over his thighs and his hands ghost over the curves of my hips and up underneath his shirt which I’m practically swimming in. I’m not wearing a bra and his calloused palms abrade against my skin as he cups my tits firmly.
I arch my back when he pinches my hardened nipples and a moan slips from my mouth. Any time he touches me, it’s bliss. I sink into the feeling of his hands on me and forget everything else.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me intently, no longer far away, no longer lost in the darkness. I can do that for him. I can bring him home.
It makes me feel powerful and important. I revel in the sensation as I start to move my hips to grind down against him.
His cock is hard, and I swear I can feel every vein and ridge through the thin pajama pants he’s wearing and my barely there shorts I slipped on when I changed after work. His eyes darken as his cock starts to pulse. My pussy responds by clenching around nothing as we continue to stare into each other’s eyes.
The connection between us demands it. It begs to be given flight. Who are we to ignore it?
As I close the distance between us and our lips meet, Crosby lets out a sound of contentment that has my pussy flooding with wetness.
“I need you, Sioux,” he whispers against my lips.
The sound I make is one of needy desperation and beautiful surrender. When he kisses me, it’s so much more than just a kiss. He devours my mouth like he’s just as starved for the connection between us as I am.
Maybe he is.
I can also taste his sadness on his tongue as he explores my mouth. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I deepen the kiss because I want to chase that sadness away. I want to replace it with passion. With love.
“I’m yours,” I gasp as I pull back from him.
His eyes are intense as we both pant and catch our breath. When he licks his bottom lip, the beast inside of him collecting more of my taste to feed him, my eyes almost roll back with how fucking hot it is.
Crosby’s muscles bunch as he lets go of my tits and slides his hands around my torso. It feels like he’s readying for something, and I cock my head to the side.
“What are you doing?”
He blinks at me and flashes me a smile that doesn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you to bed.”
My lips curl up into a naughty smile before I grip the hem of the shirt I’m wearing. I whip it off my body quickly and my tits bounce with the movement. “I don’t see why we need to go to bed. I can ride you right here and help you forget about everything troubling you,” I offer him.
His eyes widen slightly but then he lets out a primal sound that’s between a growl and a needy groan which has my nipples tightening into painfully hard peaks. When he dives for my chest, I slide my hands up my body until they’re cupping my breasts and presenting them to him.
My man does not waste time. He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and my hips jolt against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his pajama pants.
There is nothing like foreplay with my man, but the realty is that I’m already primed and about a second away from going off like a rocket. It doesn’t take much when I’m with Crosby.
That should be surprising, but it’s not. Everything with him is so much more and that includes the way he can make my body feel like no one else ever has.
When he bites down on my nipple, I cry out, a slight admonishment in my tone, “Fuck, Crosby.”
His large hand slaps my ass and I wiggle down against his hips, my skin flushing and heating at the contact. When he does it again, the moan I let out is loud and on the verge of embarrassing.
He pops off my nipple, leaving it glistening with his saliva and throbbing from the attention he’s focused on it. I want more. My other nipple is practically begging for the same treatment.
His voice is gruff and demanding, “You like it when I slap your pretty little ass, Firefly?”
“Crosby,” I gasp, something in his eyes telling me we’ll be sliding along a knife’s edge tonight. I want it. “I love it,” I admit and grind down against him harder.
One second I’m sitting on my man’s lap and then the next my back hits the couch and Crosby is looming over me. His hands are almost frantic as he strips my shorts and panties off me, both going flying over his shoulder as his hungry eyes move over my body.
Then I’m moving again. I gasp at the feeling of being manhandled. I should hate it. Probably.
But I don’t.
