Chapter Twenty-Two
Dean
I’m inside Solange, and the feeling is unreal.
She rocks on top of me, her thighs slapping against mine. I alternate between caressing and gripping her ass, content to let her steer this ship as I revel in the silken feel of her squeezing my shaft.
“Yes, Dean, that’s it,” she says, her voice ragged and needy as her lips graze my temple. More urgently, she says, “Keep doing that.” It’s the closest she’s come to begging me for anything, and I’m hell-bent on giving her exactly what she needs.
I thrust upward, meeting her each time she bears down.
“Perfect,” she says, her smoky brown eyes pinning me with their intensity.
The way she rides me is so damn glorious I want to bottle it and take it everywhere I go. But that isn’t all. I want Solange. Her sounds. Her touch. Everything that comes with this.
I can’t stop touching her either. She’s strong and soft, and I’d happily make massaging her my only pastime if she’d let me. I also wish I could do this all day. But I can’t. I really can’t. To ward off my impending orgasm, I resort to an old and rarely necessary standby: mumbling a piece I’ve committed to memory.
She pulls back, a sex-drunk expression on her face. “Are you humming?”
I blurt out, “Reciting something.”
“Why?” she says, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Helps me last.”
Grunting my responses is all I can do; the fewer words the better.
“Let me hear it,” she says. “I grind. You rhyme.”
“Later. I promise. Just . . . It’s probably more than you need to hear.”
“I’m going to hold you to it,” she says, collapsing against me. Now our chests are pressed together, and her head is resting on my shoulder. The warmth of her skin, the coconut scent in her hair, it’s an intoxicating combination that heightens the pleasure of being inside her.
We’re a tight fit, and she knows just when to contract around me to make the fit even tighter. “Hang on, I just . . . fuck, Solange.”
She draws back, her eyes so heavy they’re almost closed, then she takes my hand and pulls it between her legs. “I need you to finish what you started in that stairwell.”
The thought of touching her there and making her come against my hand makes my heart race even harder. Without hesitation, I massage her folds, then tease her with a featherlight pass over her clit. She tenses and chases the sensation, desperate for more, but I don’t want us to get to the punch line just yet, so I skim her opening, tracing a finger over the places where my cock meets her pussy.
She lets out a long moan, and it’s as though the sound is vibrating against my dick.
“You’re deliciously wet,” I tell her, my lips drifting over her neck and jaw. “I wish I could taste it.”
“Oh God, yes,” she says as she wriggles on my lap. “I want that too.”
“We have plenty of time. But for now, I want to play with this pussy. I didn’t get to do it justice last time.” I press the pad of my thumb against her clit, watching her closely to gauge her reaction.
Solange jolts. “Yes, Dean. Please. Rub me there.”
I rub back and forth, then trace a circle over her clit, repeating the sequence because she appears to like this more than anything. She parts her lips, and her moans grow louder. And fuck, she’s contracting around me so tightly I’m going to detonate any minute now.
The faster I rub, the harder she rides. My damn toes are curled, and I’m sweaty and so fucking hard. Breathing is optional. It really is. It’s just Solange and me and this feeling I want to savor all night.
I squeeze my eyes shut, summoning the concentration necessary to bring her to orgasm with my fingers. Solange’s moans and breathy sighs are all the encouragement and direction I need. But then I feel her hands running through my hair, and I lose focus. Seconds later, I’m sucker punched by an even stronger swell of emotion when she leans forward and kisses my forehead. I don’t have a name for it, nor do I want one. Still, I can see why an experience like this would prompt someone to blurt out their feelings, to trot out a litany of promises they can’t keep. But that’s not me. That’s never been me.
“Dean, I’m so close,” she says. “And I want to come so bad.”
I groan. Her honesty in this moment is disarmingly sexy. I want this to be good for her. I want to surpass her expectations. I want her to carry the memory of this morning with her into tomorrow and next week.
“Touch yourself,” I say. “I need my hands free.”
She dips her hand between her legs while I withdraw. Then I grab on to her ass and move her up and down my cock again and again. My arms are burning, but I’m not stopping until we’re both wrecked.
“Yes, Dean. Yes. That’s it. Oh God. Please, please, please don’t stop.”
The base of my dick is tingling, and my orgasm is so close I can practically taste it. “Fuck, Solange. What do you need?”
“I need you to do exactly what you’re doing,” she says, her breasts pushed together as she continues to stroke herself. “I’m right there.”
I gather all the energy left in my body and pump with abandon. I’m on fire. Unstoppable. My only task in life is to make her come.
She cries out my name. “Dean! Yes!” Then, with her eyes squeezed shut, she shudders uncontrollably, her thighs trembling from the force of the orgasm. And holy shit, within seconds of that, I come so hard my vision blurs and my head spins. In a daze, I just repeat her name as I ride it out. “Solange, Solange, Solange.”
She laughs as she comes down from her high. “I’ll admit you were right.”
“How’s that?” I ask as I work to slow my breathing.
“You’re never dull when it counts.”
I place a hand around her neck and gently draw her down for a tender kiss, one that ends with a scrape of my teeth against her jawline. “Rumor has it I can be even more interesting in an actual bed.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”
* * *
“Out with it, Chapman. Don’t think I forgot.”
Solange’s torso is draped across me like the softest, most decadent blanket ever, and she’s lazily circling her fingers across the expanse of my chest.
“Forgot what?”
Yes, I’m feigning ignorance. Revealing this could change her perception of me. And I’m a firm believer that certain things aren’t meant to be shared.
“You promised,” she says, her lips going all adorably pouty.
I blame that on being fully immersed in the heat of the moment. Solange’s presence is all-consuming, so it’s hard to think of anything else when she’s around, and when she’s focused on you, that task is doubly hard. Shit, I would have signed over the deed to my home had she pressed for it.
“Please, Dean,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Whatever it is, it’ll be our little secret.”
That gets me. That really gets me. The idea of sharing secrets other than the ones required to pull off our fake relationship is far too tempting to resist. I may never live this down, but it’s worth it for that reason alone. And since she asked so sweetly, I clear my throat and oblige her:
I love little pussy
Her coat is so warm
And if I don’t hurt her
She’ll do me no harm.
So I’ll not pull her tail
Nor drive her away
But pussy and I
Very gently will play.
“Oh my God,” Solange says, her eyes lighting up in mock wonder. “Is that an original?”
“Nah, it’s a nursery rhyme called ‘I Love Little Pussy.’ Discovered it by accident in college, during an all-nighter in the library. Written in the seventeen hundreds, I think, author unknown, and it had a profound effect on my sexual development.”
“You know it’s about a cat, right?” she says on a laugh.
“I’m not so sure, but it doesn’t matter. That nursery rhyme helped me to establish a positive relationship with pussies. Taught me to treat them with the care and respect they deserve.”
“Well, as a recent beneficiary of that positive relationship, I very much approve.”
I’m itching to dole out additional benefits, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds. Maybe she isn’t interested in more. Maybe this was meant to be a two-and-done, never to be repeated. Solange and I know we have no future together, so what now?
“You’re overthinking this,” she says, lightly tapping my chest. “We had sex. Really, really great sex, but in the end, it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. Stop trying to figure out where I fit into your life plan. I don’t. And that’s okay.”
I sit up, easing her upright along with me, and stumble my way through a decent response. “Oh, yeah, I absolutely know that. I just wanted to be sure we’re still on the same page.”
“Same page, huh?” she says, adjusting the sheet to cover her torso. “If by ‘same page’ you mean the attraction between us was bound to boil over, but our baseline is and will always be that we’re friends, then yes, we’re on the same page. This isn’t the beginning of our love story. We both know that.”
I nod. “Of course.”
She peers past me. “Isn’t it time for you to head into the office?”
“I was thinking I could work from home today. Maybe spend a little more time with you before you leave for class this afternoon. If you’re cool with that.”
She swallows, then smiles. “I’m cool with that. On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“I’d like you to demonstrate how much you love little pussy again.”
Hell yeah. With fucking pleasure.
I slide down the bed and roll onto my stomach, adjusting my body so I can accommodate the hard-on that inevitably followed Solange’s tantalizing request. “Drop the sheet and let me in between your thighs, then.”
Her breath hitches, and her eyes go cloudy. Slowly, she tugs the sheet down, teasing me as she reveals her breasts—first the tops, then the brown puckered nipples, then the soft undersides. Finally, goddamn finally, she pushes the sheet out of our way, her completely bare body splayed against my bed as though she were put on this earth to make my wettest dreams come true. My stomach clenches from the anticipation of pressing my mouth to her core and licking my way inside. I’m so turned on I can’t help grinding my cock against the mattress to chase a bit of friction for myself. “Open up for me, Solange. Please.”
She closes her eyes. As if she’s absorbing the barely contained desperation in my voice. Then she spreads her legs, bending her knees and digging her heels into the bed for support.
I breathe Solange in. Yes. This all-consuming lust makes sense to me. Attraction. Pheromones. The dopamine hit that goes along with being horny. It’s biology, plain and simple. My only job here is to drive her wild. I won’t stop until I make her come with my tongue. I needn’t worry about anything else. As she rightly pointed out, this isn’t the start of our love story. We’re just two people making each other feel good.
Best thing is, we’re in agreement on that.