JC’s hand wandered first, slipping up my shirt to push my bra up and caress my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple until I was gasping into his mouth. He slid his hips forward, and I pressed my pelvis tightly to him so I could grind against his erection. When I couldn’t get the pressure I needed through my jeans, I stopped worrying about me and reached down to palm him through his pants. The feel of him—so hard, thickening further in my hand—I wanted more. Then JC bucked into my touch and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I slid off his lap to the floor, barely fitting in the tight space, and unzipped his pants. It was a delightful surprise to find he hadn’t worn underwear and his cock stood upright and proud.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “What are you doing, Gwen?” His hushed tone wasn’t worried for himself. He wasn’t concerned at all to have himself exposed in the back of a taxi. It was me, he knew, that would feel uncomfortable in this situation.
Funny thing, though. I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I felt excited and naughty, and wow, naughty was a lot more awesome than I’d realized.
I answered JC with a pump of my hand down his length.
“Gwen,” he said my name quietly, reverently. “You don’t need to do—” He cut himself off with a strangled breath in as I sucked the tip of his cock. “Jesus. That’s…you should stop. Ah, don’t stop.”
I didn’t plan on stopping. I didn’t think I could. I licked along the thick vein and then opened my mouth to take the whole of him in. He squirmed. He moaned. He was, for once, off-balance because of me instead of the other way around.
None of it was typical behavior for me. I recognized that as equally as I recognized that I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered at the moment was having JC as close as possible—having him in me in any way that was possible. And since stripping out of jeans and riding his cock wasn’t exactly the easiest task in a moving vehicle, a blowjob seemed a little bit more manageable.
Besides, I relished the effect I had on him. I adored his sounds and the tensing of his thighs at either side of me. More, I craved the emotional exchange that occurred as he put his hands on my head and guided me. The way he looked at me as I peered up at him, even while I fisted the base of his erection and slid his cock in and out of my mouth, continued to portray so much more than lust. When I flattened my tongue and sucked his length, my need to pleasure him was not only out of carnal desire, but also out of fondness. When I drew him in until he touched the back of my throat, it was because I suspected he’d become fond of me as well.
He was getting close when the cab pulled up at the curb. I was so entranced with making JC come that I hadn’t realized we’d stopped moving. But then he was pushing me away, tucking his erection in his pants as he fumbled with the cash in his wallet. I slid out of the car and waited for him, not even bothering to check out the driver’s expression. He could be annoyed, disgusted, turned on—let him. I didn’t care in the slightest.
The walk through the lobby was the longest of my life followed by a never-ending elevator ride. The sexual tension between us was so thick, so palpable. If it weren’t for the family with young children sharing our car, we certainly would have continued making out. We tried to make up for it with our hands, joined together between us. We squeezed and caressed with our fingers, much the way we had on our first trip to the hotel.
The family got off on the same floor we did, but even when they turned down the opposite hall, JC and I remained connected only through our hands. Each step toward our door piled on another layer of tension, and by the time we made it inside the room, I thought I might explode.
And then I did.
When JC dropped the La Perla bag at his feet and we came together, it was like an explosion of the grandest fireworks. My lips ignited and flamed against his as he worked me out of my coat. My blood roared in my ears and burned in my veins. Then he pulled my shirt over my head and when his fingers brushed against my skin, sparks shot through my nervous system. My bra came off next, and my nipples stood up under his gaze, erupting from my smooth skin like perfect pink buds.
We moved as we undressed. Except for my panties, I was naked by the time we reached the bedroom doorway. JC lost his pants in the threshold then lifted me up and carried me to the edge of the bed. He set me down, tenderly, but not too gently. His every kiss—in fact, every caress—was thoughtful and affectionate but still rough and demanding the way I’d come to expect from him. The way I liked it. The way I loved it.
The way I loved him.
I jerked as the thought penetrated through the haze of passion and landed with a thud in the spotlight of my consciousness. I loved him. Goddammit. I completely loved him.
JC lifted his head from the spot he’d been sucking on my neck. “Are you okay?”
My stomach was twisting and my heart was racing and my skin felt like it was on fire. “Yeah. I think that maybe I finally am.”
He smiled, accepting my answer easily as he pulled my panties off of me. He pushed my knees apart and bent down to the floor. Then he buried his head between my thighs, swiping his tongue along my folds and around my clit. His hands massaged up and down my calves as he continued to work me, teasing me to the edge of orgasm, taunting me until the world began to tilt and spin.
Just as I started to fall under, he stood and scooted me back on the bed. He studied me as he stroked himself. I could see the gleam of pre-cum already on his cock, and I wanted it on me. In me. Wanted him to mark me and take me.
Because I was his now. Already. Completely. All he needed to do was claim me.
As he lowered himself over me and pushed into my wet channel, I pretended that he was doing just that. I pretended that it meant everything I wanted it to mean. Whether it did or didn’t, I couldn’t know. So as it was happening, I pretended that I could know. Pretended that I did know exactly what he meant with each thrust that rammed into me.
It was beautiful. It was poetry. The way he moved and touched me. The way he took care of me. The way he kissed me—God, the way he didn’t stop kissing me.
He didn’t question me the way he usually did. Didn’t push me to tell him how I felt or how he made me feel. I was telling him anyway—without words—with my mouth, with my body, with my eyes, with the soft sounds of pleasure that sang in the back of my throat. Yes, you feel good inside me. You fit my pussy so perfectly. You make me come so hard.
And I did come so hard. Hard and long, clenching around his cock, milking him. Then he was the one who told me, “God, you feel so good, Gwen. Squeeze me like that. Just like that.” His movement stuttered as I tightened, but he grabbed my hips and found a new rhythm. “Again, Gwen. Let’s go together next time.”