Page 131 of Faking Cinderella
I squeeze her thighs.
“Oh, you’re big,” she whispers. “So soft too.”
“I amnotsoft,” I grit out, my breath coming in short, desperate pants.
I want inside this woman.
I want inside hernow.
She chuckles and strokes me once more. “Your skin is.”
I’m sweating with the effort of not coming in her hands, and I realize I’m clenching her thighs so tightly that she’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Margot?—”
She palms my cheeks as she scoots her pussy over my exposed dick, the thin fabric of her panties the only thing between us.
She licks my lips, her pelvis grinding against my aching cock, and I swat for the console between the seats.
Condoms.
Bought condoms.
At a store.
Tonight.
Her hands work their way into my hair again, fingers scratching my scalp while she explores my mouth with her tongue, and my eyes cross.
I don’t know if they’re open or shut, but they’re crossing.
Has kissing and dry humping a woman ever felt this good?
My balls are wound tight. My cock’s straining to be inside her.
God, the way her thigh feels—so strong, so thick, so perfect—and the way she still tastes like ice cream and apple andcinnamon—and now she’s teasing the shell of my ear with one hand while the other strokes down my neck, over my shoulder?—
Condoms.
There.
There.
My hand connects with the box.
Why didn’t I open the fucking thing when I bought them?
Fuck on a crabcake, how do her hands feel so good on my chest?
“More,” I gasp when I mean to ask for help opening the fucking box.
She scrapes her fingers down my chest while she lightly nips at my lower lip. “This?”
“Fuck, yes.”
“Your body is magnificent.”
“Less talk. Condoms.”
Her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles at me, and I’m gone.
