Page 54 of Miss Behaved
Except Monica, with her wild hair and that nearly-nude dress, reminding me there’s a wild side clawing to get out, one I don’t think even she is aware of. The corner of her mouth ticks up, and her eyes narrow at me.
“What are you thinking?” she asks over her shoulder, swinging open the doors to the balcony and stepping out into the hot night. Her body leans into the railing, and the moon gives her the perfect hourglass outline.
“That you’re gorgeous,” I tell her.
Coming up behind her, I slip my hands down her arms and wrap them over her hands on the railing. She presses her ass the slightest bit into me, and my cock begs her to grind harder.
“What else?” she says, looking up at me.
“Not much.” I lean down and plant a kiss on her temple. “It hits me sometimes, the little things I forget I remember. Like how you’re one of those psychopaths who uses cinnamon toothpaste.”
“Hey.” She tries to nudge me with her elbow, but my hand keeps her arms stretched in front of her. “Lots of people like cinnamon toothpaste.”
“Yes, lots of serial killers,” I say, and her laugh vibrates against my chest. “But I guess that explains your sudden murderous streak this evening,” I tease.
Her eyes flick off to the distance. “Who says it’s sudden?”
The laugh pulsing in her chest turns to a moan as I grind my dick against her ass and lean in to bite her on the neck. “Guess you’re right. I clearly don’t know everything, seeing as you blew my mind in this incredible dress.”
I drag my hands all the way up her arms and then down the sides of her body, committing every curve to memory. Her back arches against me in response, that round ass putting my dick on edge.
“But I plan on figuring you out.” I lean in and kiss the spot I just bit. “Like, you enjoy when I kiss your neck. But when I bite you”—I sink my teeth into her again and wrap a hand over her pussy through her dress at the same time—“you get extra fucking wet.”
I tug up the hem of her dress and run my fingers over her lace underwear.
“Spread your legs for me, Mon.”
She steps outward, and I plant my feet inside of hers to hold her in place.
“You like when I talk dirty to you.” I run my tongue along the edge of her ear. “The thought of writing about sex makes you blush, but when I tell you that I want you to come on my tongue so I can taste every last drop of you, your pussy gets greedy.”
Her hips press against my hand, her heat aching for me to take her. I wrap my hand between her legs to pull her hips back and thrust my aching erection against her.
“You feel that?”
“Yes,” she moans as I circle my thumb over her clit through her underwear.
“That’s what you do to me.” I slip aside the barely-there fabric but don’t give her what she needs just yet. “Tell me what you want from me, Mon. Don’t hold back. Don’t worry about what I’ll think. Just tell me what you want.”
Her hips roll against me. “Your fingers.” She says it so low I barely catch it. “I want your fingers inside me.”
“Like this?” I drive one finger in and crook it against the sensitive bud of nerves deep inside her.
Monica’s body arches with a moan. “Yes, like that.”
“What else?” I say, grabbing her ass in my other hand to drive her hips forward as I slip in another finger.
“I want you to spank me,” she says with a circle of her hips.
Okay, I was not expecting that. But, noted.
“I want you to take me on this railing. I want you to tie me up. I want to suck your cock while riding your face.”
Wait? What the actual fuck?
Did I just hear her right?
She’s definitely dirtier than I gave her credit for. She might be nervous to write about sex, but one dirty martini has stripped her of her shyness.
