The Engagement Gift(4)
Fuck, that was hot. My dick shuddered inside her. We’d done the student-teacher one a few weeks ago, and it had been electric. She’d earned a D on a test and had gotten on her hands and knees, begging me to change it.
Like a good and filthy professor, I’d told her to suck my cock so hard I saw stars and then I might—might—raise her grade. I saw fucking planets when she deep-throated me, and I gave her an A-plus. Then I’d given her extra credit by eating her sweet pussy on the desk—aka our kitchen table.
“I want more. Tell me more. What do you picture when you’re all alone?” My hips moved at a relentless pace, my fingers sliding between her legs, playing with her hard clit.
“Officer, I’m turned on by . . .” She paused like she’d been on the cusp of saying something, but then she course-corrected. “. . . doctor-patient games,” she blurted.
“How hard do you come like that, miss?”
“You know how hard.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” I said, then pulled her hair, yanking her head back till she cried out.
Like a good girl, she answered the proper way with, “Officer, I come so hard that I want more doctor-patient games.”
I wanted more. Needed more. “Then you’ll fucking get them. But I need to know—what else makes you hot and wet and horny? Do you want to be spanked? Paddled? Your hair pulled?” I grabbed the sweet flesh of her ass, gripping her. “Fucked so goddamn hard and rough I leave marks?”
The sound she made was animalistic. A groan seemed to rip from deep inside her. “Put me on my knees, Officer. Put me on my knees. Push me down. Play with me.”
Yes.
Fucking yes.
I knew what she wanted when she used that word.
I pulled out, banding an arm around her waist as I brought her to the carpeted floor, her wrists still cuffed.
She sank down on her elbows, beautifully bound, and lifted her ass for me. I pushed back inside her pussy, then played with her clit till my fingers were coated in her wetness. As I thrust in her, keeping the pace she needed, I traveled to her ass. Her lush, ripe ass that I loved to fill. That she loved to have filled.
Tonight, though, was for teasing. I’d lose my mind if I fucked her ass. And I needed all my focus on the objective, so I ran my finger against her back entrance, and she moaned even louder. “Officer, yes. Please. Play with me.”
I pushed my finger inside, knuckle deep, and her back bowed. “You like that, don’t you?”
“I do,” she panted. “It gets me so wet.”
“You like it when I fuck this sweet, perfect pussy and finger your tight little ass,” I said, pushing deeper with my finger.
“Yes, God, yes.”
Her pussy tightened, and I felt a fluttering around my cock. She was close. I had to get her there. Get her to admit her deepest fantasy.
Even while fighting off my own release.
Because holy hell.
Pleasure stoked inside me, restless, relentless pleasure. But I held back, growling in her ear. “Tell me what gets you the hottest. Tell me what you want the most.”
She cried out the words “I want . . .” and I tensed, hoping she’d say it.
But her next word was “you” as she keened, breaking, coming all over me.
The thing was, I knew her answer was true. But it also wasn’t all true.
I’d seen her browser history. I knew what she liked.
But I wanted her to tell me so I could give it to her.
She had to confess she wanted two men inside her at the same time before I’d bring someone in.
3
Lily
In retrospect, perhaps I should have said something in the heat of the moment. I was certainly tempted. The words were on the tip of my tongue.
I want a threesome.
The thing was, I’d lost someone I loved before. Not because I’d confessed fantasies of double penetration. Please.
But even so, the pain of loss was not new to me, and I didn’t want to scare away the man I loved madly by confessing something that didn’t need to be confessed.
“Sometimes you can say too much. Sometimes a fantasy is just a fantasy,” I explained to Kate as I sank down in a leather chair in the coffee shop near the office. I gripped my latte, having given her the SparkNotes version of last night. “And in the end, I said nothing. I don’t want to overstep.”
“Right, but are you comparing apples to orangutans?” Kate asked before taking a drink of her tea.
I laughed. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”
She leaned forward and tapped my knee emphatically. “Nor is it a thing that just because you lost someone you loved in a car accident—which admittedly is a horrible thing to go through—you’ll lose your fiancé because you tell him you want to . . .” She stopped, perhaps casting about for just the right words. “Expand your sexual horizons.”
Heaving a sigh, I answered, “I get it. And yet, when it comes down to it, it’s not a chance I want to take. Because I don’t want to lose him.”
Losing my childhood best friend the night before our college graduation eight years ago was hard enough. I could still recall with cruel crystal clarity the phone call. The police had found my roommate’s car wrapped around a tree. The girl I’d been best friends with since I was ten had been struck in a hit-and-run. Dead on impact.