Page 120 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“And I want to see you touch yourself, so fucking listen.”
The command in his voice is so intense, so freaking sexy, that I can’t do anything but listen to it. I move my hand between my legs, where I slide my finger along my clit.
“Oh God,” I moan as I sink into the mattress.
“Are you wet?” he asks.
“So wet.” I bring my hand up between us and say, “Want a taste?”
“I fucking do, but I can’t.”
Hope slams hard in my chest as I realize that he might not break at all, that this is all I might get from him. If it is, then I better soak up every second of it.
I press two fingers against my clit and start circling it, giving it just enough pressure and movement to heighten the pleasure that’s already ripping through me.
“I wish this were you. I wish you were playing with my clit while driving your huge cock inside me. God, I want it, Hudson. I want you to fuck me so hard. I want to feel you bottom out and touch me places no man has ever touched me before.”
He wets his lips and his thumb inches upward, just underneath the swell of my breasts.
“Take a swipe,” I say. “You know you want to feel me. Just one brush, Hudson.”
He lets out a deep breath and I wait patiently to see if he will do it, if he’ll listen. I hold my breath, hoping that he will until…his thumb barely caresses my breast.
“God, yes,” I say, scooting down just enough to make the back of his hand touch me. “Play with my nipples, Hudson. Please.”
“No,” he says, still holding strong. “I fucking can’t. Just…fuck, just let me see you come.”
“And when I do, what are you going to do?” I ask as my hand that’s not pleasuring me finds his erection.
His hips buck back. “Don’t, Sloane.”
“Don’t what? Help you finish?”
“Focus on you.”
“I am, but I just can’t…hit the right spot.”
I need that right spot.
I feel crazed, teetering on the edge. Desperate for more contact. One swipe of my breast isn’t going to cut it.
It’s not going to make me lose control like I want to.
So taking a risk, I sit up on the bed, push at his chest so he’s lying flat on the mattress, and straddle his lap before he can do anything about it. I’m met with a surprised expression from him while I grip both of his wrists and pin them just above his head.
“Sloane…fuck…we can’t.”
But that’s the problem. We are two consenting adults.
We can.
Wanting to prove that, I find the hard ridge of his cock and glide my center right over him—it’s one thrust, one gloriously delicious thrust.
“Fuck,” he breathes out as I wait.
I wait for him to move me.
I wait for him to tell me to stop.
