Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(38)

Because his hand was actually between his legs.

“I do,” he said.

As the whole world as she knew it dissolved right in front of her eyes.

“You do?”

“Fuck, yes. I’m dying to.”

“Because of the film. Because of the movie.”

“Sure. We can say that, if you want.”

She closed her eyes. Swallowed thickly.

Wished hard that he hadn’t added that last part.

“If we could that would be awesome.”

“No problem. I mean it was probably inevitable that this would happen to us.”

“Probably, yeah. Almost definitely, in fact.”

“Just a natural response to a sexy movie.”

“Seems that way to me.”

“So you just slip your hand under your waistband, and I’ll slip my hand under mine,” he said, which was fine all on its own. The problem was that he then went ahead and did it. She tried not to look, but saw anyway. She saw the way he fumbled in his haste, as though all his talk was only calm on the surface. Underneath, something was paddling frantically. It was making his cheeks pink and his body all trembly.

And his dick hard. God, his dick was hard.

She could see that without even trying at all. The curving shape beneath his sweatpants was enormous and unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been, his hand made it pretty clear. As she watched, he eased it over that solid length, before finally clasping it in a way that shoved the swollen head right up against the tented material. Now she could make out ruder details, like the thick ridge around the head, and the slit at the tip. Both pronounced, explicit, rude.

But that wasn’t what really got her.

It was the way he stopped to lick his palm, before shoving it under his waistband.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, are you serious?”

“It’s cool. it’s fine. We don’t even have to look at each other.”

“No I guess not. I guess…I guess that I can just watch the screen.”

“We’re just two people getting off over a hot movie.”

“Exactly. Exactly.”

But that wasn’t strictly true. She wasn’t getting off over the movie at all. Nothing was even happening anymore—it was just rich people looking down their noses and arguments over a Dustbuster. If anything, it was vaguely depressing, rather than lust-inducing.

Yet still she sat there, face burning, body tender and rigid all at the same time. Half of her stuffed so full of embarrassment and shock she sort of wanted to block everything out, the other half just shamelessly straining to hear every single tiny sound he made. Never daring to look, of course, but then…

She really didn’t need to.

He made so much noise that she could make out almost everything. Every little moan and gasp—and there were a lot of them, too. Lots of thick, guttural moans that started on an ah and ended with a kind of abrupt sigh, as though a knife had sliced through his throat before he could finish. So many soft mmms and gasps, like he honestly couldn’t get enough of whatever he was doing.

Though it was the whispers that hit her hardest. They got her right in the gut, low down and deep enough to ache. Oh yeah, he murmured, as though the hottest sex in the world was happening onscreen. As though they were f*cking like animals, up and down and left and right. His tone even sounded sort of tremulous, and it got more intense as time went on. Soon he was panting, and rocking, and every now and then uttering something he was clearly imagining himself doing.

“Ah, yeah, suck my cock, just like that,” he said.

Then just to make it extra agonizing, he spat into his hand.

To make it extra slick, she thought, like someone’s mouth. Someone sucking him the way he’d described, slow and steady until he was actually shuddering, right here and now. The bed was moving, at least, and it wasn’t because he was working that cock hard. He wasn’t. He was going slow, so slow, squeezing and rolling rather than the short, fast kind of thing she’d always thought guys did. They almost never seemed to do anything else in porn…but then again they never did all this other stuff, too. She dared to turn her head a little more and saw to her astonishment that he had his hand pressed to his mouth. He was almost biting his fist, chest heaving, body shivering all over—but most important, eyes closed.

He couldn’t even see her looking. She was free to do as she pleased.

Yet something held her back. She couldn’t seem to do more than peek out of the corner of her eye, and even that made her feel strange. She kept getting this clenching sensation—sort of like embarrassment or humiliation—and it got worse when his back arched. When he actually said out loud that he was almost there, that he was so close, that he was gonna come all over her sheets. I need something to do it on, he said, and even that had a shameful frisson of its own. She had a brief flash of him kneeling up and suddenly coming all over her face, or maybe pulling down that ridiculously large neck hole to expose her breasts.

Followed by an image of that thick white liquid coating her, striping her face, dripping off her tight little nipples. Him pushing his cock past her lips to finish off, groaning as he flooded her mouth.

And he would have flooded it, too. She glanced at him just in time to see him shove his sweatpants down, that big dick swelling under the pressure of his too-tight grip. Thick ribbons of come already hitting his bared belly, over and over until she was sure he must be done. He had to be, yet more kept flowing over his still-working fist. She watched it run down over his fingers in slippery trails before pooling in his lap.