See Me After Class(60)

She brings her hand to my stomach, where she drags her fingers down the divot in the middle of my abs to the waistline of my briefs. I don’t waver, I don’t stray from eye contact, and I sure as hell don’t let her know how fucking satisfying it is to have her hand on my skin.

“I don’t care what you do to me, Arlo. As long as you do something.”

“I told you I wouldn’t get into this with you.”

“Then let’s just call it sleepwalking,” she says, moving her hand down a few more inches. My cock surges forward. Her fingers connect with my erection, just the lightest press, but the look in her eyes and the way her teeth fall over her bottom lip is my undoing.

I stall her wrist and say, “No touching.”

“Arlo—”

I grip her hips and lift her onto the counter, where I spread her legs and step in close to her. Her hands fall to my shoulders and her chest nearly scrapes against mine from the heaviness of her breath.

I smooth my hands up her thighs, to her sides, and then all the way to her breasts. I pull her tank top down, exposing them.

Fuck . . . they’re perfect. A handful, firm, sexy as shit, just like her. Her nipples—hard and ready—beg to be pinched, and when she puffs her chest closer, I take one between my fingers, rolling the little nub. Her head rocks to the side as her mouth falls open.

“You’re not teasing me, are you? I . . . I don’t think I could take it.” Neither could I. I’m burning for her. From her scent. To her wet, dripping arousal.

I bring my mouth to her neck and kiss along the column. “Are you saying you need release?”

Her hands pull on the back of my head, keeping me in place. “Desperately.”

I bite the spot just under her ear and she lets go of me, only for me to pull away a few inches, our noses almost touching, our breath mixing as I play with her nipple, rolling it consistently, never letting up.

“How do you want this release? With my fingers? My mouth?”

“I want you,” she answers, her legs locking around my waist so I feel her arousal on my stomach.

“You want my dick.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t have it,” I say, moving my head back to her neck, “but you can have my fingers, or you can have my mouth.”

“Why not—”

“Those are the terms,” I say, lifting away and looking her in the eyes.

She looks away and nibbles on the corner of her lip. Finally, she asks, “Can I have your mouth and your fingers?”

“Greedy.” I unlock her legs from around my waist. “Get on all fours.”

“Here? On your counter?”

“Yes. Quickly, or this offer expires.”

I let go of her and snap the towel off the oven and fold it lengthwise for padding. When she turns over, I help her place the towel under her knees.

“Now lean your head down and stick your ass out at me.”

“Arlo—”

“That or nothing,” I say, smoothing my hand over her ass right before I smack it, the sound ringing through the quiet house.

“Oh . . . Jesus,” she cries into her arm.

Smoothing my hand over the sting where I slapped her, I say, “It’ll be in your best interest to be quiet and not wake up my sister. If you get too loud, I’m pulling away and leaving. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you want something to bite down on?”

“That seems aggressive.”

“You’ve never had my mouth on your pussy before.” I slide my fingers down her center and press against her entrance. She moans, and I repeat, “Do you want something to bite down on?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky with a hint of embarrassment.

Grabbing another towel, I hand it to her and say, “Don’t make a sound. Got it?” She nods and I move in behind her, taking in her pussy and how fucking wet she is. “When was the last time a man fucked you?”

“I don’t know—”

“Never is the correct answer, Miss Gibson. Because you’ve never been fucked by me.” You never will be, and my cock will hate me for that.

I place my hands on her ass, spread her, and lower my mouth to her pussy, where I press a gentle kiss. Her back tenses and then she melts into the counter, a moan getting stuck in her throat.

I play with her for a few breaths, dragging my tongue over her lips, along her inner thigh, back to her center. She writhes beneath me, her pelvis turning, reaching, begging to hit her in the right spot. I clamp down on her hips and say, “Move again and I’m done. I’m in control. Not you. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” she groans. “Sorry . . . Mr. Turner.”

Holy.

Fuck.

My dick grows even harder, if possible, from the way her breathless, raspy voice just said my last name.

That deserves a reward.

I move my mouth from her inner thigh to her center and flick my tongue against her clit. She moans and quickly muffles herself with the towel. I bring my hand inward, keep my tongue flicking quick and short on her clit, and then stick a finger inside of her.

She moans even louder, and I pause.

“S-sorry,” she says. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

I don’t move, instead I wait a few breaths and when desperation laces her voice with another please, I bring my mouth back down onto her clit, where I intensify the pressure.