Page 23 of Say You'll Stay
Ware clenches his jaw.
I tilt my head toward the ring. “I’m happy to go a couple of rounds with you. Best man wins all sorts of things.”
Ware snorts. “I’m the richest man in the city because I know what battles to fight and what ones to walk away from.” The door opens and closes behind him silently.
When I get home, Vasey is in the bedroom, unpacking a suitcase. I lean against the door frame and just watch her for a while as she pushes my underwear to the side to make room for her lacy panties and bras, replaces another drawer full of white T-shirts with a colorful collection of graphic tees andsweatshirts. It’s homey and mundane, but I could watch this show for hours and never tire of it.
“You should be helping me instead of just standing there.”
“Your tits jiggle when you bend over. If I move, I won’t be able to see that.”
Vasey slaps her hand against her chest. “Are you admitting to spying on me?”
“You could try being less hot. I’d like to watch you sit on the bed and finger yourself. Remember you did that once when we were driving? I almost crashed into a tree. I jerked off to that memory of you more times than is healthy.”
“Yes, well, hmmm,” she sputters.
I laugh and take two strides until she’s in my arms.
“I’m not done!” she squeals.
“Think of it as a break.” I place her on the bed and then go and grab a chair.
She gives me an uncertain look. I unzip and pull out my cock. “Let me see you touch yourself.”
Uncertainty gives way to greed at the sight of my shaft. I squeeze the base so I don’t shoot off my wad while she’s staring at me.
“I want a taste.” She starts to climb off the bed.
“No,” I order sharply.
She stills, pushing her lower lip out. “But, West, you’re supposed to give me what I want.”
“Slip off your panties and spread your legs. Let me see what’s mine.” It’s a battle now, mostly between me and my own desires but for her heart, too. She needs to see that her pleasure is the most important thing in the world. That she comes first in my heart. Everything I do is for her, including this. I don’t want her to go another minute with her thinking I don’t want her, don’t lust after her, don’t spend every second of every day with her at the very front of my mind.
Her sex is a dusky rose and wet. I can see her juice glisten like expensive diamonds under the candlelight. She hovers her fingers over her mound. I bite my tongue until I taste blood. I’m not going to last.
“Lower, Vasey. You’re off your mark by about six inches.”
“This is embarrassing, West,” she hisses.
“How can it be? It’s just me, your lover, holding his own cock in his hand ready to come at any second, wanting to see you touch your pretty cunt. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
She slides her fingers lower until they rest at the entrance of her sex. I exhale heavily, probably looking like an angry bull with my nostrils flaring and my teeth bared but she’s so damned sexy I want to explode.
Her eyes flutter closed when she pushes past the slight resistance of her cunt. It’s unused to activity, and despite our lovemaking last night, even two slender fingers inside is tight. The memory of the sensation of being wrapped in her sheath grips me by the throat and cuts off my airway.
“Tell me what it feels like.”
She licks her bottom lip. “Warm. Squishy. Tight.”
She begins to fuck herself slowly. Her fingers don’t penetrate far. Her hands are too small, her fingers too short. She gnaws on her lip, searching for a release that dangles just outside her reach. I rub my cock tighter and faster, imagining that it’s her mouth, her hand, her soft, wet, squishy cunt surrounding me.
“Do you remember when I touched you there for the first time? It was on the Morris Farm. We finished our chores. I was mucking the stables, and you were feeding the goats and chickens. We were both hot and sweaty.”
“You had hay in your hair.”
“Shit on my boots.”