My Killer Vacation(28)

Halfway through my question, she’s already nodding eagerly.

Sweetly.

Sweetly? I wouldn’t know sweet if it bit me in the ass.

Teeth gritted, I spin her around to face the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. I watch her eyes connect with us. The study in contrasts we make together. Her in a tank top and panties. Pretty. Wide-eyed. And then me behind her. A jaded motherfucker with three days’ worth of beard growth damn near twice her size. This is what she asked for, though. Isn’t it? She’s still on her toes, her sexy backside flush to my lap right now, gently grinding left to right, for a reason. She’s been hungering for something and not being fed. How is it possible to be relieved by that and find it unacceptable at the same time?

I pinch the hem of her tank top between my fingers, taking a few seconds to graze her belly with my thumb, because goddamn, she is so soft. Her ass stills in my lap at the action, her eyelids fluttering. She likes it. As much as she wants a taste of hard and fast, she likes being touched gently, too, and knowing I shouldn’t, I file that away for later. Later? Yup. Can’t help it. Can’t help cataloging the acceleration of the pulse at the bottom of her neck when I peel the tank top over her head, leaving her in cream-colored panties and a matching…

“What is this?” I ask, running my index finger back and forth under the thin shoulder strap, looking down over the top of her at those two full, ripe tits, cupped in lace. How they plump when I tug on the strap. Fuck. I can barely keep from growling. “It’s not a bra, but it’s not fit for public, either.”

“Oh, um. Yes,” she murmurs, chest rising and falling. “It’s a bralette.”

Never heard of one. “Cute.”

Her eyes flash to mine in the mirror. “I don’t want to be cute.”

“Guess we better take it off then.”

I watch her toes curl into the rug. Nervous but excited. “Good.”

Instead of working it up and over her head, I surprise her by drawing the straps down her arms, then slowly dragging the dainty lace garment down her ribcage, belly, hips. And then I stop, settling my mouth against her ear. “You pull it the rest of the way. All the way to your ankles.”

She’s breathing harder now.

She knows something is coming—and she’s right.

I’m not operating some kind of game here, though. I’m moving on distinct reflexes that come directly from this woman. How she moves, how she breathes, what it means when she swallows harder than usual. It’s like I tune into her channel and some untapped source inside of me knows how fast to move, how slow, when she’s ready for more. I’m too mesmerized by the sight of her sexy, tan-lined body in the mirror to worry again about the fact that these blind reflexes have never existed in me before. That they’re specific to her.

Taylor chews her lip a moment, then takes hold of the bralette, shimmying it down over her hips in a way that makes her naked tits jiggle. Rounded and full and topped with pouting nipples. I groan at the intense rush of pressure between my legs, tearing my attention from the reflection of her breasts in order to look down, watch her bend over right there in front of me in a thin pair of panties, pulling the bralette down her knees, over the curve of her calves, until the lace touches the ground.

But I don’t let her stand up.

I slide my fingers into her hair and keep her bent over, pulling her head back. Just her head. Slowly fisting her hair tighter and tighter until she whimpers.

“Jesus. Look at you.” My free hand twists in the back panel of her underwear. Twists and twists until she cries out because the material is so tight over her pussy. Separating her lips and ass cheeks, applying pressure to everything in between. “Would anyone call you cute now?”

Still being held in that bent over position, she studies her reflection through glazed eyes. “No,” she hiccups. “No.”

“No. Me either.” I lean back slightly, tugging her twisted panties to one side, groaning at what I reveal. “Well, let me clarify. I can see your tight asshole and nothing could stop that from being cute, but the rest of you?” I press my lap to the taut curve of her ass, letting her feel the painful effect she’s having on my cock. “Now you’re a girl who likes to fuck dirty.”

A shudder wracks her body and I have the most compelling urge to gather her against my chest, warm her up. Tell her how beautiful she is. But I’m not going to pretend I’m not enjoying this. What we’re currently doing. Taylor watching herself in the mirror. Witnessing the surprise come over her, the change in how she sees herself. She’s nearly naked, bent over in front of an unscrupulous man, tits on display, mouth swollen, pupils eclipsing her irises.

Lust. She’s in it.

My God, so am I.

I’ve never been harder in my life.

Or at least that’s what I think. Until she seeks out my eyes in the mirror.

And says, “Rougher.”

So much blood travels south so fast, I almost double over on top of her. I’m aching to pull down her panties and pump home from behind, just like this. She’s wet. I don’t need to feel her pussy to know it. The evidence is part of my consciousness. It’s in my veins. She’s practically trembling in front of me, her ass working up and down in my lap. Hips tilted up. I know what the hell she’s asking me for.

I twist her fisted panties one more time, lace biting into sensitive flesh until she cries my name, her thighs starting to tremble. “You want me to slap the cute out of this ass?”