I’m on a hair trigger here.
My Pretty Girl
What are you doing?
Tell me.
I’m doing what you think I’m doing.
And I’m thinking about you while I’m doing it.
My Pretty Girl
What are you thinking?
How I want to kiss you all night long.
How I want to feel your legs wrapped around my waist and your nails digging into my skin.
How I’m going to make you scream my name.
My breath comes out harsh and ragged just thinking about all that, and my hand moves faster.
I bet you’d be wet.
I bet you’d drench me.
I bet you’d taste delicious.
My Pretty Girl
I am.
Wet.
Fuck.
My grip turns brutal. My hips jerk up into my fist. The image of her—standing alone in her house, aroused and scared andbraveenough to tell me—shatters every last piece of my control.
My hips jerk up, driving my shaft into my fist. My head knocks back against the seat. The cab is filled with the sound of my breathing, harsh and uneven, and the slick rhythm of my hand working my dick.
I want her hands on me. I want her hands to explore my naked body, on my bare skin instead of over my clothing. I want her fingers to curl around my hardness, pumping me, her sweet voice whispering in my ear, asking me what I want.
There’s only one answer—her.
“Lily.” I come hard, my body going rigid, her name torn from my throat like a prayer. The release is a flash and overwhelming, but not nearly enough. I keep stroking through it, wringing every last drop of pleasure from my body, my mind still full of her—her taste, her touch, her choice.
When it's over, I slump back in the seat, breathing hard, my hand still wrapped around my still-hard dick.
The cab smells like sex and desperation. I clean myself up with a rag from the glove box, tuck myself back into my jeans, and try to catch my breath as I focus on my phone.
Now it’s your turn, pretty girl.
41
LILY
Mason Rivera