Page 36 of Charmed By the Next-Door Neighbor
"Anything. Everything. Just—fuck—just keep touching me."
I stroke him again, firmer this time, and watch his face. The way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes squeeze shut. The way his hands are gripping the seat so hard his knuckles are white.
He's holding back. Keeping himself in check even though I can see how much he wants to move, to thrust, to take.
"You don't have to be gentle," I tell him. "I'm not going to break."
His eyes open and the look in them makes my breath catch.
"Yeah, you will," he says roughly. "If I stop holding back, I'll break you in half."
The image that puts in my head, of him losing control, of him taking what he wants, of him breaking me in the best possible way, makes me clench around nothing.
I lean down, and before I can second-guess myself, I lick the tip of his cock.
"Claire…"
I do it again, tasting the salt of precum, and then I take him into my mouth. Or I try to. He's so thick I can barely get the head past my lips, and I have to work my jaw open wider, taking him in inch by inch.
The sound he makes is inhuman.
His hand comes up to tangle in my hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needs something to anchor himself.
"You don't have to—oh fuck—you don't have to take it all—"
I want to, though. I want to take him as deep as I can. Want to make him lose control. Want to hear him make those sounds again. I relax my throat and take him deeper, and his grip in my hair tightens.
"Claire, Jesus, your mouth—"
I bob my head, working him with my hand where my mouth can't reach, and the rain outside is so loud but I can still hear him. The rough groans. The harsh breathing. The way he says my name like a prayer.
This is better than any fantasy I've had.
Better than anything I imagined during those late nights when I touched myself thinking about him. Because it's real. He's real. And he's falling apart because of me.
I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, and he swears again.
"Stop," he grits out. "Claire, stop, I'm going to—"
I don't stop.
I take him deeper and swirl my tongue around the head and feel his whole body go rigid beneath me.
"Claire…"
He comes with a shout, his hips bucking up, and I swallow as much as I can but there's so much, and some of it spills out the corner of my mouth. I pull off him slowly, licking him clean, and when I finally sit back and look at him, he's staring at me like I just performed a miracle.
His chest is heaving, his hair is a mess from where I grabbed it, and he looks utterly destroyed.
"Come here," he says roughly.
I lean forward and he kisses me, hard and deep, tasting himself on my tongue. Then his hand is sliding up my thigh, under my dress, and I realize with a jolt what he's about to do.
"Nash, you don't—"
"My turn," he says against my lips, his cock still hard.
His fingers find the edge of my underwear and I'm suddenly very aware of how wet I am. How soaked the fabric is. How I've been dripping since the restaurant and it's only gotten worse.
