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She looks so damn hot right now—confident, daring, a little flushed from the drive. And yeah, I do owe her.
My cock strains against my jeans, already hard and aching. She palms me through the denim, and I have to bite back a groan.
“That includes me riding you until you’re begging for mercy…or until I decide I’m done,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am,” I relent, and her eyes darken at the unexpected surrender. I’ve never been on this side of the command before, but her confidence makes my pulse race.
We just make it through the door before she’s on me, all demanding hands and hungry mouth. She backs me into the bedroom, fingers already working at my belt.
“On the bed,” she orders, voice husky with want.
I comply, watching as she stands at the foot of the bed, eyes roaming over me. When she pulls her shirt over her head, the light through the window catches on her creamy skin.
She climbs onto the bed with predatory grace, and her thighs bracket my hips as she settles above me. My hands instinctively move to grip her waist, but she catches my wrists, pinning them above my head.
“Uh-uh,” she warns, eyes glinting. “I said I’m in charge.”
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” She leans down, her lips brushing against mine in a teasing almost-kiss. I strain against her grip, testing, and she presses harder.
“Behave,” she whispers.
Fuck, she’s cute.
Then she’s kissing me, deep and slow. Her hips rock against mine, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.
“Whitley,” I groan when she breaks the kiss to trail her lips down my neck.
“Patience.” She sits back, releasing my wrists to pull my shirt up. “I’ve been fantasizing about this for so long.”
I lift up enough to let her strip it off, then watch as she traces her fingers over my chest and down my abs, exploring every inch like she’s mapping territory.
“You’re staring,” I say, voice rougher than I intended.
Her smile turns wicked. “Can you blame me?” She leans down, pressing her lips to my collarbone, then lower, teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me hiss. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“What else have you been thinking about?”
She sits back on her heels, still straddling me, considering the question with bright, mischievous eyes. “How you’d look underneath me instead of on top. How your face might change when you’re not the one calling the shots.” Her fingers trace lower, ghosting over the waistband of my jeans. “Whether you’d beg.”
“I don’t beg,” I growl, though my cock throbs painfully against my zipper. Yeah, I’d fucking beg for Whitley Collins.
“We’ll see.” Her smile is pure sin as she works at my jeans, tugging them down along with my boxers. My erection springs free, hard and aching for her touch.
She wraps her delicate fingers around me. “Look at you,” she murmurs, stroking slowly. “So hard. So big.”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to thrust into her hand. “Whitley…”
“Shhh.” She leans down, her breath hot against my skin. “Let me take care of you.”
When her lips close around the head of my cock, I nearly lose it right there. She takes me deep, her tongue swirling around the crown before she pulls back, only to sink down again. My hands fist in the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto.
“Fuck,” I groan, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of her copper hair spilling across my thighs, her lips stretched around me.
She pulls back suddenly, her lips popping off with an obscene sound that makes my hips jerk involuntarily. The cool air hits my wet skin, and I groan in frustration.
“Not yet,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.
