“She wasn’t a ‘milk first’ kind of gal?”
“Never.” I laugh. “She’d have been horrified.”
“Did you used to have tea parties with her?”
“Afternoon tea, and yes. And she always had scones, jam, and clotted cream.”
Cora’s nose turns up. “Clotted cream? What’s that?”
“A thick cream spread made from milk. You put a touch of it on your scone, along with jam, and that’s how you prepare your scone for consumption.”
“Are there any cardinal sins when it comes to preparing your scone?”
“Not really. There’s more flexibility in that area.”
She nods. “Good to know.”
I move my hands up her side. “I like you like this—calm, not trying to calculate my demise.”
“Had to give my plan of attack a break for a second. It’s pretty tiresome being diabolical all the time.”
“Imagine how every villain ever created feels.”
“Tired, worn out, and ready to give in to peer pressure.”
“Is that so?” I ask. I lean over the bed and reach under it, pulling out one of my shirts. I offer it to her and say, “If you’re giving in to peer pressure, put this on, see what happens.”
She rolls her eyes, takes the shirt—offering me a smidge of hope, only for said hope to be washed away when she sets the shirt on the nightstand.
“Nice try. Not happening.”
“A man could dream.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“What’s it going to take to get you to surrender?”
“Nothing, because it’s never going to happen,” she says, shifting on my lap.
“Seems like I’m closer than ever, you know, since you’re currently sitting on my lap, dragging your fingers over my chest.”
“Because I’m trying to get you to fold, don’t you see? There’s no way you can hold out that long. The tension between us has been building, intensifying to the point that I’m not sure you’re going to be able to take much more from me.”
“Try me, babe. I’m pretty confident.”
“Are you?” she asks while spreading her legs a little wider and sinking down on my bulge.
“Do what you want, Cora, I’m not giving in.”
Determination sets in her eyes. She grabs the hem of her crop top and pulls it over her head, dropping it to the side of the bed.
My dick pulses against her center.
Her fucking tits are perfection. Bigger than what you’d think just looking at her, dark nipples that grow tight when our eyes connect, and slightly more than a handful.
My hands slide up her sides and land right below her breasts.
“You want to suck them.”
“I do,” I say. “I want to fuck them, too.”
She presses her tits together, and, Jesus Christ, I can practically feel them engulfing my cock. “Then go for it.”
I shake my head. “I told you, you’re not getting this dick.”
“You gave it to me this morning.”
“You didn’t get my bare cock,” I say as she starts to glide over my erection. I help her.
I might not give her what she wants, but I still need some fucking relief. I’m wearing thin, here. Holding strong is causing me great pain and, each day that goes by, my willpower is slipping. I desperately want to take this woman, flip her to her stomach, and fuck her from behind until she’s screaming my name.
“I got a piece of it.” She throws her head back and I take that moment to bring my mouth to her exposed neck and trail my lips down her neck and back up again. Her hands curl around my neck and hold me close to her, looking for more as her hips press against mine.
Hell, I need more.
I need so much more with this woman.
“And that’s all you’ll get,” I say, before flipping her to her back and crawling on top of her. With a quick glance between us, I see my fucking hard-on, tenting my shorts, seeking relief.
It might not be the relief I want, but it’s better than nothing, so I spread her legs wide, press my dick against her, and thrust.
“God, yes.” Her hands fall to her tits and I watch as she twists her nipples, playing with them. Normally, I’d want to be the one to do that, but I enjoy watching her do it. “You’re so big, Pike. I know you’d stretch me, you’d fill me up more than any other man.”
Fuck, she’s messing with my head, trying to get me to break. To snap.
It’s working.