Читать книгу I Want It Now - Sydney Molare - Страница 12

The butterflies danced and twittered in the soft breeze, their wings glinting in the sunlight. Delighted, I danced as they swirled around me, caught up in the beauty of the moment. They flew high then returned in a cloud, their feet alighting on my arms, my bare belly. I laughed as the brush of wings tickled my flesh until I was unable to stand it anymore. My hand moved downward to shoo them away and felt…skin?

My eyes flew open. Suddenly, I remembered. Dubois. My new husband. His lips touched my stomach again. I shifted as the tickling sensation returned. It intensified when his tongue poked out, swirling into my navel.

I groaned before clutching his head in my hands. “Stop. That tickles.”

“Um.” His head moved lower where he swirled his tongue just above the waistband of my bikini before nipping the tender flesh. His breath drifted over my exposed thighs in warm, rapid puffs. “What about here?”

My stomach was now doing flip-flops as his whiskers scratched the sensitized flesh. I held his head firmly. “It definitely tickles.”

Dubois grinned up at me. “That was my plan.” He pushed downward. I stopped him. He made an unhappy face. “Still tickles? And here I was thinking all that thrashing about was because I was arousing you.”

“Well, I’m sure in the classes they taught you the most likely positions to get someone aroused. However, I happen to be extremely ticklish all over. So I’m tickled right now, not aroused.”

He nodded. His hands moved into the spot where his whiskers scratched, moving in slow circles. My stomach contracted, then released involuntarily as the circle widened. He watched the play of my abdomen, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Over and over his fingers dipped into my bush—just missing my clit—then back below my navel. I began a slow sizzle all over. His other hand rubbed up and down my thigh. My pussy began to leak; my legs shifted, widened slightly.

Dubois’s long tongue snaked out and swirled into my belly button. My breath held in my chest, legs began to tremble. Dubois kept up the pace, fingers circling, hand kneading, tongue licking until I thought I would scream from all the sensations flowing through me. My clit needed his touch, my nipples cried for his lips, my mouth needed his kiss.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I tugged him upward, slammed my mouth over his, tonguing him eagerly and vigorously. He met me twist for turn, indeed, pulled me atop him. I straddled him, knowing that my wet secrets would be revealed the moment my pussy touched his stomach. And I was correct. When my pussy connected with his flesh, he pulled back. “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re no longer ticklish.”

“I’m not,” I assured him before I touched my lips back to his.

Dubois grasped my hip, mashed my pussy deeper into his stomach. I imagined the juices were pooling in his navel, sticky, the scent tantalizing, entrancing us both. He tugged at my camisole, pulled it over my head without really lifting from the bed. His hands stroked my breasts slowly, eyes darkening further in desire. When his nostrils flared, I cupped them, leaned them over for his lips to suck.

He did so willingly.

I sighed deep as his soft lips pulled at my stiff knobs. It felt so good, the tugging, the wetness, the pressure of his nips. My womb contracted, spewed more juice out of my body and onto him. I let my hips slide around, wanting my clit to touch his hot flesh. He shifted, allowing his cock to stab into the material of the panties just covering my lips.

“Mmm, baby. Oh, baby.” His tongue probed and twirled faster as his hips pushed upward, searching. I opened wider, teased him unmercifully. Hands tangled in my hair, dragged my mouth to him. I ran a finger along the underside of his cock, felt him jerk, lurch from the touch.

I pushed the envelope further.

My fingers closed around his swollen head, began a slow stroke aided by my wetness. I let his cock head brush across my exposed bush hairs; knew exactly what I was doing. Wanted it, even.

Dubois stiffened, then surged, thrust his cock into the wet hairs; felt him growing, growing, hardening between my hand. “Sweet Jeeeees…oh, baby, oh baby.”

His cock kept probing, seeking, wanting me to slide the panties to the side, welcome it into my hot pussy…and my pussy wanted him so badly. Wanted to clench around the thick muscle, slide up and down the stiff pole, releasing countless pints of juice in my wake. My mind warred with my pussy:

Just let him put it in a little, we don’t have to go all the way. If he puts it in even a millimeter…I’m gonna fuck him senseless. Girl, YOU control your pussy. He can’t get what you don’t give him. I don’t think I can stop right now. You know you want it, get it! No! I’m not that easy! Easy? He’s your husband, get it! I don’t know him well enough yet! Wear protection and get yourself off, girl! Just think of all that virile cock stroking and fucking deep in your pussy…how long has it been again?

It had been that long. As in six months without anyone other than my fingers stroking my kitty; only my mirror-reflected eyes seeing my bush, only my sheets receiving the wetness of my juices. It had been too long….

With a sigh of pent-up need, a sense of diving into the deep bottomless end of the ocean without a wetsuit or oxygen tank, a mental shifting of accepting the gifts presented, I plunged ahead and…shifted the panties to the side. Felt Dubois’s cock touch the sea of honey releasing between my lips. Heard him gasp, saw his face contort, felt the tremble ripple throughout his body. Knew he could not resist the invitation.

And after a few long moments of holding himself in check, he succumbed to my temptation. His cock eased past the fabric inch by inch, feeling the lips with his head; absorbing my moisture, tasting my nectar—readying himself for his entry. I aided him, opened wide, bunched the panties, pulled them farther to the side. Watched as the red fat head learned, memorized my anatomy. Saw its head rise, preparing to find its way home in its depths. I lifted, let my pussy lead as it positioned me over the head; began the descent toward the cock head, felt the tickle of my—

The doorbell chimed loudly.

It startled me; put me off center. I ignored the chime song, found my cock target, locked my pussy over the cockhead and descend—

The doorbell chimed again.

I rationalized the doorbell away; told myself it was probably UPS or FedEx and they’d leave the delivery on the porch when I didn’t respond. For the third time, my pussy eagerly sought its denied mark, was pulsating in the wake of delayed gratification, was—

The doorbell…chimed…for…a…third…damn…time.

Dubois groaned loudly, let his hands drop. “I think someone is determined to see you today.”

My groaned echoed his. “Damn.” My body was on fire for this man! I hoped that the doorbell wouldn’t ring again, would let us return to this luxurious interlude, but it was not to be. The doorbell chimed yet again—a persistent double ring this time—as if the doorbell pusher just knew I was inside and wasn’t going away until I came out.

I slid—slowly—across his thick thighs, letting my now released panties trail over him before rolling out of the bed. Throwing on a robe, I made my way down to the irritating individual whose finger was now making me cuss, extending my list of transgressions long enough that I was in dire danger of being turned away at the Pearly Gates for this one moment alone. I flung open the door, scowl on my face, non-niceties on my lips, and stopped.

On my porch stood Michael…as in used-to-date-please-don’t-call-me-again-this-lifetime Michael.

Shit.