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“Damn, she’s so wet,” he says, his breathing deepening when he reaches my opening.
His finger dances in my puddle, and I grind against him.
“Stop that,” he adds with a hard slap to my thigh.
I don’t dare to protest. He runs my juices up to my clit, finally applying the pressure I desire. I moan softly at the sensation coursing through me. Jackson watches my expression intensely, using my reactions to gauge the level of pleasure he applies to my sweet spot. In a matter of minutes, he has me begging him to do so much more. All the flirting, kissing, and dancing has me wired with anticipation. He’s relentless in his methods of slippery sweet torture, fondling my yoni to the point of near climax. My breath quickens, and he abruptly pulls away.
I want to demand he let me have this, let me reach and release this building orgasm. Without breaking our connection, Jackson swoops me up and places a juicy kiss on my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck for support. He carries me over to the full-size mattress, gently lays me on my back and kneels in front of me, removing my undies. One hand rubs me from my neck back down to my throbbing pussy, while the other forcefully spreads my legs apart.
“Don’t move, not even a little. If you do, I’ll make you suffer.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, and if I’m being honest, I’m not about to give him one. I should probably be concerned of his idea of suffering, but with the way my horniness is set up, he ain’t got to worry about me breaking any rules.
He separates my lips, showing my pussy the attention I’ve been wanting. Jackson takes his time burying his tongue within my wetness, sending me, my body, and emotions—yes, I said emotions—into a frenzy so deep and delicious that I swear I just might fall in love with this man.
