Читать книгу Make Me Scream - P.J. Mellor - Страница 12

Jamie tossed and turned on the softly worn sheets, tangling her feet in them. She kicked them away and flopped to her stomach, punching the pillow into submission.

Visions of Devon standing naked in her bedroom, moonlight combining with the light from the courtyard spilling in to bathe his naked sex in a warm glow. His hard, erect, naked sex. Hard and erect and pulsing for her.

She shifted in a failed attempt to ease the ache between her legs.

She’d blown it. Totally ruined the moment by freaking out. But she’d been so sure she’d seen something at the window. Something with eyes. Fred had immediately flashed into her mind, but now that she’d had a chance to calm down she wasn’t as sure of what she’d seen.

Fred may not have found her or been the one peeking in her window, but she didn’t fool herself. If he wasn’t around, he would be soon. He always found her.

A glance at the still partially open shade confirmed that no one was at the window. She should get up and let it down, just in case. But to do that required more energy than she had at the moment.

She flopped onto her back and watched the faint shadows on the ceiling, the lazy rotation of the ceiling fan. One night. All she needed was one full night’s sleep. Sleep uninterrupted by the man who haunted her days and now invaded her nights.

Her mind went to Devon, and the constriction in her chest eased. Her muscles relaxed. She smiled. Who would have guessed that under the frumpiness was a body of a god? Her hands covered her breasts, absently rubbing the hardened nipples through her threadbare University of Michigan nightshirt. It had felt so good, so right, when he’d sucked them. She gave the hard buds a little tweak, moving her legs restlessly on the sheet.

What would Devon think of her body, her real body? She’s seen the way his eyes had practically bugged out of his head when he’d eyed her cleavage. Yet he hadn’t seemed to notice the disparity in size when he’d held and suckled her.

She ran her hand under the nightshirt and massaged her aching breasts. Ever so slowly, she dragged her hands down her rib cage, past the indention of her waist, over the flair of her hips. She traced a line over her thighs and up, up until her fingertips brushed her intimate moisture. Tightening her stomach muscles, she raised to look at her genitals in the shadowed light and then ran her fingertip over the petal-soft, ultrasensitive skin she’d exfoliated that morning.

Relaxing against the pillow, she dipped her fingertip into her moisture and then spread it with lazy motions over her labia, imagining Devon’s tongue tracing the same path. The thought made her squirm, made her hips want to buck off the sheets in an age-old plea for sexual appeasement.

Ache. She ached for him. Planting her heels on the mattress, she spread her legs. The coolness from the fan bathed her heated center. It wasn’t enough. Reaching between her legs, she cupped her sex and ground the heel of her hand against her mons. Instead of subsiding, the ache grew stronger. Hand still cupped, she lightly slapped at the ache. A pleasant twinge zinged up into her womb. Another slap brought her to the brink of…what? An orgasm? She had to find out.

Dipping her finger again, she swirled her juices over her heated skin, her heart rate increasing with each stroke of fingertip to smooth, hot skin. Two more stinging slaps, each one a bit harder, and she was gasping, panting, yearning for release.

Desperate, she plunged her finger deep. Her inner muscles clamped around her finger, the plump walls hot and slick with her excitement. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t divorce the sensation of something filling her from the knowledge of what she felt like inside.

With a frustrated groan, she rolled onto her stomach, rubbing against the sheet in an effort to find release. Instead, her frustration mounted.

She stuck her hand beneath her, flicking her distended labia, rubbing her swollen nub, the pressure of her knuckles against the springs of the mattress taking away some of the awareness of exactly where her hand was and what it was doing. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut tight and focused on the feeling of her most private area being petted and teased….

Her knees came up, pushing her bare bottom toward the breeze from the ceiling fan. She imagined Devon blowing gently on her wet folds while he manipulated and played with her femininity. Her back jerked. Her hand rubbed harder and faster, occasionally slapping and then petting the stinging flesh.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Devon on his knees behind her, doing all those wondrous things to her, his hot penis thumping against her butt, kissing her vagina.

And she was there.

With a sound that was half groan, half animal mating call, her back arched as her climax raced through her. Tiny shards of electricity zipped through her veins to tingle her nipples, teasing them into hard buds. Every muscle in her body vibrated with the charge shooting through her to all her extremities. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks shooting from her nipples.

With a final gasp, she fell back onto the mattress, eyes shut, savoring the little aftershocks of pleasure.

Devon’s entire body vibrated. Weak, he gathered the strength to pull up his boxers and shorts, then dropped back into his chair.

After a moment, he typed: WARNING! Do not confuse the vibrator button with the stinger operation button.

Killer made a little whimper in his sleep, and Devon smiled as he watched the dog chasing something in his dreams.

Devon rearranged his still semihard, tingling dick to a more comfortable position and frowned. Had Jamie not freaked, they could have soothed the ache filling his groin, impeding his creative thoughts.

He picked up the Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee personal device and turned it over in his hand. The gel was soft, almost pliant, still warm from his body heat, he supposed. Idly flicking one wing with his index finger, he compared it to the feel of a woman’s labia. Of course, a labia was firmer, tighter…unless in the midst of arousal.

Immediately his thoughts zipped to Jamie and how her labia had felt in the precious few moments he’d been able to touch it. Hot. Soft. Wet and lush.

His cock stirred at the memory. Eyes still trained on the wing, he unzipped in order to relax enough to spur creativity. Within seconds, the engorged head peeked through the flap in his boxers. He ignored it, intent on coming up with something clever and positive to say about the product in his hand.

He turned off the desk lamp, its click echoing in the quiet apartment. In the distance, the rumble of male voices continued. In the soft light from his laptop screen, the bee took on an ethereal glow.

How would lovers use this for mutual satisfaction?

A vision of Jamie, her bare bottom sitting right where his laptop had been, gorgeous legs spread wide for his viewing pleasure, came to him. She smiled down at him and they both looked at her moist cherry folds. He stroked them with the wing of the bee. Gentle at first, he increased the tempo and pressure.

Bathed in moonlight, she leaned back on her hands, elbows locked, the puckered nipples of her impressive rack jutting toward him.

He stood, replacing the busy bee wings with his equally busy fingers while he fluttered her distended nipples with the device.

She moaned. Maybe it was him.

His eager cock nudged her ass. She scooted forward for easier access, her smooth legs going around his hips, pulling him into her wet heat.

He sucked one breast hard, the wings still gently slapping her other breast. Her wetness pulled him deeper. His hips bucked, increasing in intensity. He switched nipples and moved the bee. Her hot breath fanned his ear. Faster. Harder. Deeper.

Deeper?

It was his fantasy, so why not? His hips pumped faster, driving hard into her welcoming body.

Inspiration struck. Dragging his hands down her smooth legs, he placed her bare feet on his shoulders, spreading her for deeper thrusts. Muscles tightened in his legs. Too soon. He didn’t want to come without her. He fumbled for the bee. He must have dropped it in the heat of passion. Got it. The wings gently slapped his balls as he positioned the device so it would propel Jamie over the edge to free-fall with him and pushed the button as his release rushed toward him.

Pain shot from his dick to his balls and squeezed. His lungs seized. He may have lost consciousness for a second or two.

When he came to, he was half lying across the keyboard of his laptop, his pants around his ankles. Humiliation washed over him. Something nudged him. Hot breath fanned his ear.

“Lark?” Killer stood on his hind legs, straining to see what was going on.

Devon regarded his keyboard and said a silent prayer he hadn’t ruined his computer. Will, his computer guru, would never let him live it down.

Killer tilted his head, regarding his master. “Lark?”

“Don’t ask.”