Page 69 of IRL: In Real Life
That was the part that got me.
Taking my time with her for real.
Peeling that dress over her head slow. Seeing those amber brown eyes lower to slits. Kissing my way down that soft light-brown skin. Dragging my mouth over her stomach, the inside of her thighs, listening to her breathing change while I put those hands she had already clocked to better use and held her open for me.
I wanted to lick her sweetness until she started shaking.
Wanted to hear what she sounded like when being composed stopped being an option. Wanted to feel her fingers clutching at my head, her thighs tightening by my ears, her voice goingrough when she said my name because she needed something and finally quit trying to sound like she didn’t.
I braced one hand against the tile and told myself to stop.
I didn’t.
My mind went lower.
Talia on my bed with her legs spread for me, pussy wet and open, already clenching before I even put my dick in her. Me pushing in slow at first because I knew I’d be thick enough to make her take a breath. Me watching her face while I worked her open inch by inch until that first tight pull gave way to heat and slick and the kind of little moan that would go straight to my ego and make me fuck her harder than I meant to.
“Shit,” I muttered, forehead to the tile.
By the time I got out of the shower, dried off, and sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but a towel, I was still hard and meaner with it than before.
My phone lit on the nightstand.
Another woman.
This one from the app.
Khaliyah: You disappeared. You alive?
I looked at it and almost laughed. Technically, yes, I was alive. In every other way that mattered tonight, not really.
I dropped the phone facedown and leaned back on my palms, staring at the ceiling while my body kept arguing for what my pride wanted to call discipline. I could leave it alone. Go to sleep half aching and act like restraint had won something.
That lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Then I reached for my baby oil, wrapped a hand around my dick, and gave up the performance.
The first stroke nearly pissed me off. It was too much sensation with too much of her still in my head. Talia in thatdenim dress. Her mouth opening under mine. The shiver that ran through her when I touched her waist. The way she looked at me right before she kissed me back that second time, like she already knew she was about to let me have more than she planned.
“Fuck.”
I closed my fist tighter and let the fantasy take what it wanted, dragging me out of the lounge, out of that booth, out of the dim room with people sitting too close, and into the only place my mind wanted her.
My bed.
Her on her back against dark sheets, denim gone, jewelry still on because I knew damn well I’d like the look of gold against her skin while I put my mouth on her. My hands spreading her thighs. My tongue dragging through her wet pussy slow enough to make her curse at me. My thumb on her clit while I licked deeper, listening to her lose the last of that polished little control she wore so well.
That was the part my body grabbed onto.
Making her cum hard enough to forget herself. Hard enough to start talking reckless. Hard enough that when I finally climbed over her and put my dick in her, she’d already be shaking and too sensitive, still opening for me anyway because she wanted it that bad.
My hand moved faster.
I could see her pulling me down by my shoulders. Feel the drag of her nails over my back. Hear the way she’d say my name if I was really in her, really giving it to her, making good on every dirty thing that had been sitting between us all week.
Then I sat her on top.
Talia above me, hair a little wild, gold flashing at her ears while she sank down on my dick slow and looked me dead in my face while she took every inch. My hands on her hips first, thenher ass, then sliding up her waist and over her breasts while she rocked herself stupid on me.
