Page 62 of Two Wrongs
And he does.
‘You taste like cake, too. So good... ’I can almost feel the word rumbling against my skin.‘So fuckingedible.’ I melt against him, the warm brush of his lips enough to visibly weaken my knees.
‘And you know you have thesweetestcunt I’ve ever tasted. I’ve told you that, babe.’There’s an upward inflection to his words like he wants me to confirm he’s always so base. So crude.
My insides tighten with need as I watch myself nod behind his fingers.
‘Such a sweet, good girl.’
Above his hand, my eyes roll deliberately, and Dylan laughs again, a little harder this time. Meanwhile, the hand at my waist slides upwards, slipping the strap of my sundress from my shoulder.
‘Such a good girl,’he repeats.‘So nice, so pristine. You going somewhere nice, darlin’?’This time in answer, I raise a solitary brow.‘Because you look so pretty, baby. So pretty, and it makes me want todefileyou.’From soft and teasing to implied menace and threat; his tone—the words—their effect has my fingers working faster, between my legs becoming slick and wet.
On screen, I shake my head, my gaze clear and wide.
‘This dress makes me want to fuck you so hard...’His fingertips trail along my collarbone, gliding down to the lace trimming my strapless bra.‘Youmake me want to fuck you so hard. I can’t play nice all afternoon, watching you parade yourself in this dress. Not without getting under it first.’His smile is feral and his eyes gleam.‘I need you, baby. Or I’m following you into Joe’s bathroom later and bending you over the tub.’
I make a muffled mewl behind his hand as he slips his fingers into the lace cup, rolling my nipple. And that sound? It’s a response to his blend of promise and threat; to the way he’s touching me. It’s a response to all the things I know he’s capable of making me feel.
‘Think you could keep quiet?’I moan, my nipple now exposed and pebbling, despite the room’s warmth.‘Maybe with your panties in your mouth.’His answer is half threat and half tease. So familiar. So bittersweet.‘What’ll it be? The later or now?’His hand moves from my mouth to cup my chin, his other sliding between my legs.‘That looks like a yes to both,’ he purrs.
I don’t answer, not with words, my body rising in greeting, both now and on screen, when he suddenly pushes the past me onto my back, spreading me diagonally across the bed. His head is immediately beneath the layer of pale cotton ruffles, and I’m breathless, my chest rising and falling as he bites the lace of my knickers, growling and shaking his head.
‘Stop! Stop that!’My arms are flailing, hitting the mattress; his head wedged tightly between my thighs. But back in my bedroom, in Scotland, here and now, my heart aches. I’d expected to feel passion. To see sex. I wanted fucking and sweat and sounds. Not intimacy. Not this.
Tears prick against my eyelids as, on screen, I let out a long, tremulous moan as Dylan’s head emerges from the fabric, pushing my knees wide apart.
‘Ivy, you slay me,’ he whispers, his gaze glued to the lace between my thighs. ‘Was the dress not enough torture for one day?’I giggle as he traces one finger the length of me, sliding the fabric between my wet slit. The giggle trails off, turning more purr-like, and that would be an apt description as I watch myself push up into his hand, like a cat enjoying being stroked and demanding more.
‘You like that? You like my fingers?’
‘Not as much as I like your cock.’My voice is husky and laced with want, and with those words, the tone turns.
‘Tell me,’ Dylan demands, the words low in his throat as he dips his fingers under the elastic at my leg.I’m writhing against his hand. Against my own hand.
‘Dylan.’His name hits the air like a sigh, as if it’s the answer to all the questions I’ve ever had—the answer to my every thought.‘Your cock is the business.’Or maybe it’s only the answer to the mysteries of my world. Especially as he loosens his belt buckle, the leather tongue sliding free with aschlick.He pulls the long, sleek hardness into his hand.
‘I thought it was for pleasure.’He strokes once, twice, and I push up onto my elbows to watch; the hunger in my eyes unashamed and clear.
‘Your cock’—I push out the word with defiance and a pout—‘is my business.’
‘That’s right, baby. All for you.’How can those few words sound gentle and feral all at once?
‘Then give it to me,’ I demand. ‘Fuck me hard.’
‘I thought I had to take care near your dress.’I can see the corner of his cocky smile as he turns, giving the camera his profile. He looks like a picture in a magazine.
‘Screw the dress,’ I reply on the breath of a moan—a moan the result of the two fingers he’d curled deep inside. I don’t need to remember; my whole body is a reminder of how this man knew me, my inside clenching emptily as I watch the past me writhe. He knew me. This man knew every hitch in my breath. Knew my every sigh and tell.‘I’ll change,’ I sigh out.
‘That’s not how this works.’His reply is all husk and rasp. ‘I’m fucking you hard, but the dress stays. Now, afterwards. All afternoon. My fingerprints covering your skin and my cum inside you.’
‘But lunch—’
He spreads my knees wide, one of his against the bed. ‘And if you’re a good girl, a sweet girl, when we get home, I’ll strip you. And we’ll do it all again.’
‘You’re—’
‘Fucking you now.’
