Page 82 of Mile High Ex's Dad
His fingers hook the cup aside, and cool air hits the damp peak before his mouth replaces it, making me gasp. He sucks gently at first, tongue circling, then deeper, harder, until my back bows off the bed. The sound he makes is almost a moan itself, low in his throat, like he’s tasting something he’s been denied too long.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my breast. “I wanted this the second I saw you.”
Heat floods through me.
He shifts to the other side, kissing his way across the soft swell between my breasts, then latching onto my other nipple with a groan that makes my thighs press together.
“These tits,” he says, lifting his head just enough to look at them before taking one into his mouth again. “Do you know what you did to me last night? Standing there in that dress, looking all hurt and furious, and all I could think about was getting my mouth on you.”
I whimper and thread my fingers into his hair. He sucks harder for it, one hand kneading the other breast, thumb dragging over the wet, oversensitive nipple until I’m trembling under him.
“Such a pretty fucking body,” he says. “Soft everywhere I want a woman soft. I should have had you naked again the minute I saw you.”
The filthy certainty makes me hornier.
He kisses lower, down the center of my chest, over my ribs, across my stomach with a care that makes me shake for a different reason. His mouth lingers there, and his hand slides under my thigh again, spreading me open for him while he kisses me everywhere, slow and thorough, as if he’s reacquainting himself with every inch.
I can’t keep still. My hands move over his shoulders, his back, his chest. I kiss him when he comes back up to me, mouth hungry and messy now, all of us slick with sweat and want. He tastes like me and heat and the last of my control leaving my body.
He strokes me as we kiss, broad palm over my thigh, over my hip, over my breast again, then lower until I’m writhing under him.
“I’ve thought about this mouth,” he says against my lips. “About these sounds. About how wet you’d be when I touched you again.”
“I am wet,” I whisper, shameless now. “So do something.”
That gets a dark smile out of him.
He kisses me harder, then reaches between us, guiding himself through my slickness once, twice. The head of his cock catches on my clit and I gasp into his mouth.
He groans. “Christ.”
His forehead rests against mine for a moment while he strokes himself over me again, not entering yet, just making me feel how hard he is, how ready, how much he wants this too.
Then he pushes in.
He goes gentle, inch by inch, watching my face, one hand braced beside my head and the other spread over my hip as he eases into me. The stretch is still intense. He’s thick enough that I feel every bit of him, every careful push making my mouth fall open wider.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
I do.
He holds my gaze as he sinks deeper, his face tightening with pleasure and restraint. “That’s it. Take me.”
I clutch at his shoulders and let out a shaky breath when he bottoms out, filling me so completely I can’t think for a second.
He stays there. Just stays there, buried deep, forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. “So fucking good,” he murmurs. “You feel incredible.”
I move under him without meaning to, a tiny helpless shift, and it pulls a rough sound from his throat.
“Easy,” he says, though he sounds like he’s talking to himself as much as to me.
Then he kisses me and starts to move.
Still gentle. Still controlled. Deep, measured strokes that make me ache and open around him all over again. Every drag of him feels intimate in a way I’m not prepared for, more dangerous somehow than when he was rougher. He kisses me through it, my mouth, my jaw, my throat, and keeps telling me filthy, ruined things in that low voice of his.
“Been wanting this cunt around me all day.”
I shiver.
