Folsom (End of Men, #1)(51)
“It’s beautiful,” he says. “I’ve seen thousands, trust me, it’s beautiful.” His arms get tighter around me as we watch him walk to the bed and run his fingers slowly down my body. He flicks my nipple and lowers his mouth to it, tugging it with his teeth and then licking the sting. The me in the simulation arches her back. My breath quickens as I feel his erection against my back and feel his hands wander down my body. I can’t tell what turns me on more, seeing him touch me, or feeling his hands on me in real time; my senses are on overload. My lids lower when in the simulation his fingers reach between my legs. I stare, unable to tear my eyes away, when all of a sudden I feel Folsom’s fingers reach underneath my dress. With one arm locked firmly around my waist, he strokes me through my underwear as we watch our simulated selves do the same. I can hardly keep my eyes open. It feels so good.
“Watch,” he orders me. He finds the edge of my underwear and slides one finger underneath the lace. I jerk when we’re skin to skin. I’m still not used to another human touching that part of me.
I force my eyes open and watch him lick me in the same place his finger is now snaking in and out of. I can feel myself grow tighter around him. “Folsom,” I whimper. If he weren’t holding me, I don’t know that I could stand on my own.
The simulated version of me writhes on the bed, moaning, and I stare, transfixed. I remember when he did that to me on the first day we met. I remember the feel of his wet tongue circling me. I look almost feral in my want for him; I look the way he makes me feel.
“Is that really how you see me?” I ask.
“God, yes,” he says, his dick pressing hard against me.
“Show me,” I cry out when he slips in another finger, moving in and out, faster, desperate. Three fingers, I pulse around them.
In his vision of us, he unties the silk and moves behind me on the bed, pulling me onto my knees and shifting us so I can watch as he enters me from behind. The view of his cock pushing into me, faster, harder is so intoxicating that I’m drunk with what’s happening both in front of me and to me. I’ve never seen myself from that angle, but I know he has, and I blush at the sight of myself so open and exposed. When his dick slides out it’s wet, and when it slides back in, my skin turns pink to take him. It’s beautiful, and erotic, and embarrassing all at the same time. The simulated me cries out, head falling back, and I match her…chasing my fall right behind theirs.
TWENTY-FIVE
FOLSOM
She asks to be fed after we leave the SIMS, dancing circles around me in the parking lot. She’s wearing a dress and the boots I made her, and she looks like a fairy that can kick serious ass. She’s high on life, her orgasm, and she’s possibly in love with me. The sight of her makes my heart beat strong and steady. Sera looks on disapprovingly, and as we pass through the parking lot, people just arriving turn to stare. When they take out their Silverbooks to photograph me with Gwen, I grab her hand and move us faster. The fact that I’m out with her in public is going to cause a shitstorm in all twelve Regions. It’s not the first time the media has caught me out with a woman; there were others I spent time with, friends. And in the end, it was always the same for them: public humiliation, ridicule, online articles that picked them apart and called them unworthy to be with me. It didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like. In the end no one was good enough to spend time with an End Man, especially not the original one. I don’t want them to do that to Gwen. I pull her close, and Sera opens the door for us. I practically toss Gwen inside and then we’re driving haphazardly through the streets before anyone can follow us.
“What was that about?” Gwen asks.
“We don’t need the paparazzi following us, or them getting too many shots of you out there. I should’ve waited until later to take you out.”
“I don’t want to be holed up like a prisoner. You should be able to live your life without always looking over your shoulder. So we went somewhere together, big deal.”
I bite my tongue; I can try to explain it to her, but she won’t understand.
“Are you always this difficult?” I ask her, legitimately wanting to know.
“If difficult means telling the truth, then yes.”
It’s dark but not too dark to see the storm flash across her face, and I know what she’s thinking. Tonight was a step away from reality, hers and mine, but there will be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and we can’t keep playing house like this without repercussions.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
I shake my head, unwilling to share my thoughts with her. Not yet.
She curls her hands in my shirt and tugs me toward her. We’re kissing with me leaning over her body, her back suspended above the seat, held up only by my elbow. With my free hand I press the button that raises the barrier between Sera and us, and then Gwen lowers her body onto the backseat, stretching out beneath me. I settle between her legs and she hooks them around me. Her hands are in my hair, damp with sweat; her chest rises and falls against mine, our breathing labored. I feel the kiss in my center, at the place where I keep my most private feelings. She’s rustling around in my weakness and it’s painful to let her do it. She reaches down between us and takes my dick in her hand, and as she does, she breaks free of our kiss and rolls her head from side to side, moaning, her eyes closed. I should be in on the moaning, I think. When she strokes, I throw my head back, my eyes rolling with pleasure, my dick thick in her hand. I’m pressed between her legs and when she lets me go, my dick drops and rubs against her wet panties; wet from before, wet from now—I don’t know. I let her feel the full length of me as I pump back and forth across her clit. I let her know I want inside. She reaches down and yanks her panties to the side and now I’m rubbing against wet, bare skin as she shakes and cries out. Her noises are throaty, she doesn’t try to muffle them as she calls, “I’m going to come,” over and over. I want to sink inside of her, bury myself all the way to the hilt. My hand presses against the window above our heads, the glass cold against my sweaty palm. I can see the rosy glare of the streetlights as we drive.