His face is only inches from mine, and his eyes widen when my words come out. Jesus, I can’t believe I just said that.
“Fuck, that was hot.”
Letting go of my wrists, he sits up again. Kneeling between my legs, he keeps his eyes focused on mine as he unbuttons his jeans.
“Take yours off too,” he commands. I quickly unfasten my shorts, and shimmy them down my legs. After his jeans are unbuttoned, he drags down the zipper. But before he pulls his shaft out, he snaps the elastic on my thong. “These too. Let me see you.”
After everything we’ve done together, why am I so nervous about being naked in front of him? I strip them off anyway, unclasping my bra next, so I’m lying in front of him, sprawled out on my bed, naked in the dim light of my bedside lamp.
He moves to pull his dick out, but he stops. His hands run from my hips all the way up to my breasts, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at my body. His gaze filled with awe as he devours me with his eyes.
“What are you thinking?” I ask playfully, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he kisses each of my breasts, making my back arch and my brain forget my own name.
“So, you want to watch, huh?” he asks, lifting up.
Pulling down his jeans, he finally pulls out his cock, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I mean, I’ve never really admired a dick before, but something about Emerson’s is perfect. Made only more perfect by the way his large hand wraps around it, sliding from the base to the head, and squeezing the tip.
With his hungry eyes on me, he licks his palm, getting his hand nice and wet before stroking himself again. I’m squirming against my sheets with need as I watch him.
I shift my hips and bite my lip. “Do that again,” I whisper.
I feel so dirty. I can’t believe I asked that and I can’t believe he’s doing it, but since that moment in the hallway, I’ve gotten a taste of liberation, and it’s so good. This feeling of freedom to be sexual and feel good and not bad about that is so addicting. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel this way with anyone other than Emerson, so I’m going to savor it for as long as I can.
His chest heaves as he moves his hand, keeping his on me as he jacks himself slowly. Liquid heat pools in my belly, and I struggle not to rub my thighs together, no matter how much I want to.
“Faster,” I whisper in a breathy plea.
He picks up his pace, and I watch his mouth fall open as he does, his eyes hooded with lust.
“Touch yourself,” he barks, taking my hand and guiding it to my open legs. When my fingers graze over my clit, the desire grows stronger. He watches my fingers as I slide them through my wet folds and circle back to my clit. He’s practically hypnotized by the movement.
“Fuck yourself,” he says, and his fist jerks faster.
As I sink two fingers deep inside me, we groan in unison. Then, I begin to pump in sync with him. “I want to come all over you, Charlotte.”
“Do it,” I reply. I’m dragging my pleasure out, and I know once I’m ready, I could easily come right along with him.
His free hand drags down my hip to clutch my thigh tightly in his grip, and I can tell he’s forcing himself not to come. And more than anything, I want to watch his face when he does let go and unloads all of that pleasure onto me.
“Do it, Emerson,” I cry out. “Come all over me.” Right on cue, he lets out a heavy grunt, dragging the tip of his cock along my belly as warm jets of cum paint my skin. His expression is perfect, half agony and half euphoria.
A few hard circles around my clit, and I come undone right along with him. Biting my bottom lip, I tilt my head back and let the sensation take me away.
Then, he’s kissing me again, dragging my face up to meet his. I latch desperately onto his neck and tangle my tongue with his.
“Fuck, that was incredible. You are incredible,” he pants against my lips.
We both collapse against the mattress, coming down from the high. He jumps up and disappears into my small en suite bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm wet washcloth that he uses to gently clean up the mess on my stomach.
When he returns to the bed, I expect him to button up his pants, kiss me goodbye, and leave. What I don’t expect is him dropping his pants, draping them over a chair, and flicking off the bedside lamp as he crawls into bed next to me.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“What does it look like?”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Charlotte,” he snaps in a deep authoritative tone that shuts me up.