Hold Me Close(12)

Bill groaned again. “You know I do.”

She wanted that, too. Mitchell’s dating profile had been witty and charming, but their date had been bland and unremarkable. He’d been nice enough. Polite. He’d insisted on holding the door open for her and pulling out her chair, which was a pleasant surprise.

He hadn’t kissed her good-night.

It might be that he was too much of a gentleman or maybe he didn’t like her enough. Effie didn’t really care. He’d asked her if she might consider going out with him again, and she’d said sure, but she wasn’t convinced he’d actually call her. She didn’t really care about that, either.

Right now, Effie only cared about Bill’s hot, wet tongue on her cunt. Making her come. All she wanted or needed was a thick, hard cock inside her.

“Eat my *,” she breathed and moved up over Bill’s face, her knees on either side of his head. She let her body hover over his lips, not close enough for him to touch her unless he made the effort. When he did, laughing, she pulled away, just out of reach.

With a small growl, Bill grabbed her hips again, his fingers digging in. He pulled her close. Got his mouth on her. His tongue swiped her expertly, delving into her folds and probing her entrance before moving up to start a steady pace against her clit.

“Fffffucccck,” Effie breathed. She gripped the headboard, already rocking against him. No more teasing. No games. Pure pleasure.

Bill slid a finger, then another, inside her, f*cking as he licked. The dual sensations sent her tumbling closer and closer, but her orgasm danced just out of reach. She needed something...more.

“Harder.” She twisted to look at his cock. He had a hand on it, stroking. The man was nothing if not coordinated. He was going to come before she would; this had become a race. She didn’t want to lose.

Gripping Bill’s headboard until it creaked, Effie f*cked herself against his mouth and fingers. He stretched her, too much. It hurt and not in the good way. It was a distraction that was keeping her from going over. She would be sore for days.

So close, so close and yet not close enough. Bill stepped up the pace, one hand jerking his cock while the other slipped away to grab her thigh. His tongue worked, swiping less steadily, the pace switching up at random.


She was going to lose it. Effie cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples and then pinching them. Hard. The pain sparked a small surge of pleasure, but not enough.

Bill let out a low groan and rolled them both so he was on top. He fumbled in the nightstand for a condom and put it on before sliding inside her. He pumped a few times, then shuddered.

That was it for her. All done. Her cunt ached from the pounding of his fingers, but everything else felt swollen, throbbing, dissatisfied. Like menstrual cramps but worse. Women could get blue balls, too, she thought and shoved him until he rolled off her. Effie moved onto her back, head on the pillow beside his. They lay shoulder to shoulder until the slickness of his sweat repulsed her, and she shifted half an inch. He noticed, though. Bill always did.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” he said as he sat up to dispose of the condom in the trash pail by the bed.

Effie twisted to look at him. “Don’t be like that. Jesus, Bill. Have a little more class.”

“That’s a good one.” He snorted softly and lay back with an arm beneath his head. Somewhere in his house a clock chimed, though she knew him well enough not to believe the hour it was crying. He’d have forgotten to set it back for the time change, let the batteries run down, something. “You come over here after being out with some other guy, half-drunk, and all you want to do is f*ck.”

She hadn’t been half-drunk or even drunk at all. She’d sipped from a glass of wine, just enough to let it linger on her breath. She just let Bill think that because it gave him an excuse to demand she stay until she’d sobered up. He was a cop. He didn’t condone drunk driving, though he didn’t seem to have a problem f*cking her and letting her leave without so much as a cuddle after. Of course, that was why she came to Bill’s apartment late at night after bland and dissatisfying dates in the first place.

Effie sat up, cross-legged, and poked him in the side. “Oh, don’t act like it’s your dream to have me here in the morning, making me eggs.”

“You could make me eggs,” Bill pointed out.

“I can’t cook,” she lied with a hint of a grin and poked him again. This time, he snagged her hand and held it for a moment as they looked into each other’s eyes.

He settled her hand on his hip. She gave him a second or so before withdrawing it. He noticed that, too.

“You could stay,” Bill said in a low voice. “The bed’s big enough. You could have all your own space.”

“I have to get home to my kid.”

Bill frowned and pushed up on his elbow. “Bullshit. Your kid’s with your mother tonight.”

“How would you—” Effie scooted backward and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then said over her shoulder, “What did you do, drive past her house? Check it out? Creeper.”

“If you’re with me, your kid’s with your mom. Or with someone. You wouldn’t leave her by herself. I know you better than that.”

She did not like that, not one bit, this idea that he believed he could ever know her. That he was right only soured her further. Effie stood, searching for her panties and settling for her dress. That, at least, she’d hung neatly over the back of a chair. The underwear had come off at a rather more heated pace. She’d probably kicked her panties under the bed or something, but she’d be damned if she was going to get on her hands and knees to look for them.