Trashed / Page 26

Page 26


I’ll go ahead and say it: I like a big ass. So with Des, I’m in heaven.

I spin her around and let go of her hands, run my palms down her arms and get a good long look at her ass, and then I have to touch it again, have to hold it. Have to press up against it, and I know she feels my desire. I can’t help but nestle my painfully rock-hard cock between those lush, round globes and imagine burying myself deep inside her, just like this.

Not yet, though. She’s shaking, trembling, and she’s barely breathing. Need to go slow, prime her. Get her ready.

It’s time to make good on my promise from yesterday.

“I need to hear you moan.” I guide her gently toward the bed, and she trips, rights herself and turns, covering her chest with her arms. I pull her hands away. “Never cover yourself, Des. Those tits of yours are too fucking perfect to ever be hidden.”

“Adam, Jesus. You act like you’ve never seen tits before.” She shrugs, and pulls her hands free, but doesn’t bar her arms over herself again.

“Not like yours I haven’t.” I step up to her, run my hand up her side, and then, finally, at long last, I have her breast in my hand.

God, so big, so heavy and soft. I run my palm over the swaying mound of her left boob, then thumb her nipple. She gasps and flinches.

I look into her eyes and flick her nipple with my thumbnail, and she flinches again, hard, her mouth falling open. “You’re sensitive as hell, aren’t you?” I ask.

“I guess so,” Des murmurs, her eyes wide and fearful and searching mine.

“Then you’ll really love this,” I say.

I lift her breast to my mouth and run my tongue over her nipple in a slow, wet lick.


“Same thing,” I say, grinning at her, and then close my lips around the erect nub and suckle.

“Fuck!” she curses, and her hands go wild, passing over my shoulders, clutching at me, and one of her hands scrapes over my scalp and she grips my short black hair in her fist.

“You like that?” I ask.


I lick again, and then suck, flick her nipple with my tongue back and forth a dozen times until she’s gasping. “You like it?”

“Yes…” She cups the back of my head, holding my face against her breast. “I like it. A lot.”

I push her so the bed meets the back of her legs, and she sits, involuntarily. I go to my knees between her thighs, pressing kisses to the tender flesh of the inside of her breast, moving across her sternum to the other side, and I take her right nipple in my mouth and make her moan again.

I skim my hands over her thighs, grip the crease where hip meets leg and press my thumbs into the flesh and muscle, drive them closer and closer to her core. Her head falls back on her neck and she’s breathing so hard she’s nearly hyperventilating, but her hands are clutching my forearms for dear life, but she isn’t pulling me away or stopping me. I fall back to sit on my heels and just look at her.

Looking up at her, watching her, I hook my fingers in the string of the thong circling her waist. She’s watching me back, brown eyes wide, a little nervous, anticipatory. I tug down, and the triangular scrap of fabric covering her core rolls down and away. Her chest swells with a breath, and catches. Her eyes narrow and her mouth falls open. I pull some more, and the thong catches on her butt.

“Lift up, babe,” I say.

She hesitates, and then lifts her backside up off the bed, and I strip the underwear off, toss it aside. And now she’s totally naked for me, bared, vulnerable, and beautiful.

“God, Des. So fucking sexy.” I run my palms up her thighs, and back down.

I feel her body tense, but she doesn’t move otherwise. This time, my hands drift up between her legs, pressing her thighs open, and she complies with delicacy and demure hesitancy, her eyes sliding closed.

Even her pussy is gorgeous. She’s trimmed but not shaved, and her lips down there are as plump and kissable as the ones on her face. She opens her eyes and sees me staring at her core.

“Oh my god.” She blushes, her tan skin flushing, and she tries to close her legs, but I’m between her knees. “Stop, Adam. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs uncomfortably and tries to cover her pussy with her hands. “Like I’m—”

“Beautiful? Delicious? Someone I want to spend hours pleasuring?”

She closes her eyes and squeezes them tight, as if fighting with herself, warring about something internally. “You’re nuts.”

“How about this?” I say, and let her cover herself with both hands. She’s shy, suddenly. I trail my fingers down the tops of her thighs to her knees, and then drag my fingertips back up along the insides of her thighs. “How about I let you cover up, and I’ll just see if I can get you to move your hands on your own. I want to see you, Des. All of you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you.”

“Kiss me where?”

I let a hungry smile play across my lips. “Everywhere, Des.” I slide my fingers around the circumference of her thighs, as close to her core as I can get. She shivers and I can feel her fingers trembling. Her fingers splay, and I slip one long middle finger between the gaps of her fingers, touching slick skin. “Here. I want to see and touch and taste you here.”

She makes a sound in the back of her throat, and then opens her eyes, fixes them on me. “Jesus.”

“That’s not my name.”


“Better.” I put my hands over hers. “Now. Look into my eyes and tell me you want me to stop.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can’t.” I brush my thumbs across her nipples, lift her breasts and let them fall with a bounce. “Because you know you want this. You want to let me touch you.”

She keeps her eyes on mine, and I see the internal war raging and I want to know what she’s afraid of, what has her so conflicted. But I don’t ask. Instead, I skate my palms over her thighs, over her hips, up her ribs to her tits and back down. I see her eyes waver with indecision, and then she lifts her chin, determination filling her gaze, and moves her hands away, resting them on my shoulders.

I grin and trace her opening with my index finger.

She moans, and her eyelids flutter.

* * *

I’ve touched myself. I’ve given myself orgasms. But that is totally unlike the sensation of Adam’s finger sliding up my opening.

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