63. Angel #5
My thong is still hooked around his fingers when he grabs the back of my neck and drags me closer.
In that same second, I take over his cock.
He’s hot in my palm as I stroke him, nudging his nose with mine. “I masturbated in your bed Christmas Eve,” I confess.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I haven’t washed those sheets since Thanksgiving ‘cause they still smell like you.”
He sinks two fingers into his mouth, wetting them until his spit drips to the knuckle.
Then he slips his hand down between my thighs, and he drags his spit up through my slit and over my clit.
A warmth instantly spreads inside me.
I tip my head back,
and he kisses my throat.
“Drew—” I whimper, and he hums right there on my pulse. “I wear your hoodie and socks while you’re at work.”
His lips break into a smile on my skin.
“I keep hand sanitizer in my pocket in case you need me,” he whispers. “With one of your hair ties wrapped around the bottle.”
“I named the plant Andison,” I admit. “For Andrew and Allison.”
His lips slide up my throat. “I think that’s fuckin’ adorable.”
I keep going, “And I bought a bottle of your cologne to spray my pillow.”
His mouth hits my ear when he murmurs, “I suck on my fingers hours after they been inside you like a sick fuck.”
A half-bitten moan drips off my lips. “Oh, God—you are fuckin’ obsessed with me.”
He laughs,
pressing his temple against mine,
his finger drawing circles over my clit.
“Baby, you have no fuckin’ idea.”
I grip him tight,
stroking up slow, and he groans once,
choking back another that still rips through his stare. One more slip of my wrist and he’s done.
I pull him close, press my mouth to his ear. “I’ve been wanting to rip that chain off you since the hot tub.”
“Allison,” he pants. “I been waitin’ for someone to give a shit enough to rip it off my neck.”
My squeeze pauses around his thick head. “Then why did you ask for a break?”
His teeth clench.
“‘Cause you scare the fuck outta me.”
I stroke his cock in tight pumps,
and his head tips back,
throat tight with a ragged moan,
body locking up in stages.
First his thighs,
his hips,
his jaw.
His breath cuts behind his teeth,
then he’s coming hard in my hand,
hot cum shooting into my palm.
“Fuck—Allison.”
He drops his head to my collarbone,
watching me soak his cock in it,
coating him,
making his whole body shiver.
When he looks back up again,
sweat's drawing tracks down his face.
He peels off his shirt sticking to his skin,
tosses it behind him into the backseat,
then grabs my face with both hands,
stealing my mouth,
his tongue dragging mine.
His kiss pulls me under as I fumble, grabbing his cock the same second his hips lift, desperate.
My skirt bunches around my waist.
My thighs tremble.
Then I sink down on his cum-soaked shaft, feeling him push up hot inside me, inch by inch.
I hiss out, hips grinding slow over the thick fill of him. His mouth falls away from me completely.
He shoves my cashmere up to my chin,
gets a fistful of my tit in his palm
and sinks his hot mouth over it,
tongue dragging my hard nipple,
lips sucking slow.
“I want you deeper,” I pant.
Andrew's jaw flexes.
“Yeah?” He fists my ass, pushes me down onto him as he thrusts up, and where we meet is a soaking mess.
I whimper,
raking my hand through his hair.
“No, Andrew. Deeper.”
He laughs short under his breath, sliding his hands under my thighs, and he lifts me until my feet find the edges of his seat on either side of his hips. He grabs the back of my neck in one hand,
my jaw in the other,
yanking me to his mouth to shut me up.
Then he slams inside me,
crushing me against him,
burying himself so deep
the warmth splashes over my bones.
It rips a shudder through us, violent,
and it splits him in two.
One part of him turns feral,
his hand clamping down on my ass,
grinding my clit against his pelvis,
fucking into me so hard,
black spots my vision.
The other part is gentle—
palm at the back of my head,
fingers tangled in my hair,
holding me steady,
kissing me slow and filthy.
“Holy fuck…” He nails me down and rolls his hips into me. “Shit,” he groans, rhythm catching. “Baby, you’re about to come.”
“No, I’m not,” I try to get out.
When he pulls back,
he looks undone and gorgeous—
eyes half-lidded, lashes wet, hair damp,
sweat dripping down his temple,
his throat,
his breath breaking through his nose.
“Yes, you are,” he rasps. “I can fuckin’ feel it.” His eyes cling to mine, dark and devouring, as if I’m not allowed to look anywhere else while he ruins me. “You’re right there, Allison. Right fuckin’ there.” His moan shakes in his throat with every stroke.
“Fuck,” he pants. “Don’t let me go yet.”
“Andrew—”
“C’mere,” he says,
pulling me into his mouth.
His tongue slips past my lips
as he punches his cock up inside me,
then pins himself there,
buried to the hilt,
hips grinding until the rough, wet drags
pulls the climax straight from my clit.
I gasp into the kiss.
My nails sink into him.
My body shakes.
He holds me close,
my pussy pulsing around him,
gripping tight.
Then he locks up, nailing me down,
and comes fierce, hot, and shaking,
a broken moan caught in his chest
as he holds our kiss.
We stay right there,
for I don't know how long.
Until a smile hits us at the same time.
Then our chests slap as we breathe hard.
Then our muscles melt, and his hands fall down the sides of my body, gentle as the tremor running under my skin.
His fingertips skim the bones of my ribcage, down to my hip.
Like his name’s written on me.
Under his hands.
A n d r e w
And my song “Angel” is playing through the speakers.
All the windows are fogged,
the Firebird full of heat and sex.
And for the next two minutes and twenty-two seconds, we make out at the Rockefeller Lookout. Like the last thing either of us wants is to separate.
After, he leans forward,
cracks the window an inch,
letting the cold air spill inside
and lick our skin.
He falls back,
eyes hooded as he looks at me,
pushing sweaty strands off my cheek,
wanting to see all of me.
“Allison,” he says, voice dipping.
“If you ever leave me after this,
“I’m gonna fuckin’ die.
“Just so you know.”
It’s not until later,
until after we arrive back at his house,
until after we sink heavy in his bed,
until after Andrew falls asleep,
that I realize…
I never threw up.