Chapter Twelve
M itch
“You did?”
Mitch merely pantomimed dancing, seeing as he was no expert himself. Emma nodded, ponytail dragging along one shoulder of her sexy teal dress, the one with the sash wrapped around her waist that practically begged to be tugged open to reveal whatever delights might lurk just inside. Skimpy little black panties? Mitch mused silently to himself. Teeny little pushup bra? Or, perhaps, not a stitch at all?
“You think I dragged my desperate ass over to that fence in the middle of the night just for the fun of it?” Emma’s voice was low, tense, quiet, as coiled up and taut as the rest of her rigid body hovering mere inches from his own.
Mitch nodded absently as they swayed from left to right, occasionally circling each other slowly in Emma’s stylish, grownup, Pinterest-worthy living room, so different from his own small, crummy, cramped off-campus apartment as to exist in a whole other universe altogether.
Like Emma herself, Mitch supposed, swaying gently across from him all sinewy curves and ripe, feminine flesh. A real, live, beautiful grown ass woman, smiling seductively up at him in a way that made it clear she was all his, if only he didn’t screw it all up.
As usual.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he explained shyly. “I’ve just, no one’s ever fallen for me before.”
“Bullshit.” Emma’s fingers tensed inside his own, her pretty face scowling gently as their loins brushed chastely against each other’s once again.
He shook his head and, subtly, drew her closer. Despite her vicelike grip on his hands, Emma’s body didn’t resist the inevitable pull, fitting against his own like a puzzle piece he’d been missing all this time. “Scout’s honor,” Mitch muttered for the second time that night. Only this time? He actually meant it. “Usually I’m the one who does all the falling and then I have to convince whoever it is I’ve fallen for that—honestly?—I’m not really so bad after all.”
Emma clucked her tongue, as if upset with the handful of so-called girlfriends from his less-than-checkered past. “Their loss,” she insisted, stubbornly clinging to this idea she seemed to have that he was somehow worth ... desiring? Mitch didn’t see it, obviously, but Emma seemed to, her eyes hungry and eager as they pivoted from foot to foot in the spacious living room, so stylish and trendy it seemed like something out of a model home.
“I guess that’s not how they see it, Emma,” Mitch insisted as he felt the unmistakable press of her body against his own. It was firm, ripe, supple and warm, even through the thin, clingy dress that seemed both casual and dressy at the same time.
“I just find it hard to believe,” Emma insisted as she gently took the lead, squeezing his hand subtly to drag him left and right as they swayed in time to the atmospheric music in the background. “That someone as irresistible as you hasn’t been fallen for in all these years.”
Mitch scoffed openly. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been irresistible to, Emma.”
She smirked, wriggling against him so that his thickening shaft pressed against the warm, smooth press of her unmistakably swollen mound. “I bet you say that to all the girls you spend spring break with, Mitch.”
“Only the women,” Mitch said pointedly, enjoying the blush that crept across Emma’s cheeks as their lips danced dangerously close to one another’s.
“And you’re okay with that?” she murmured, leaning closer to rest her head on his bare chest. His hands slid around the small of her back in reply, the gesture as achingly erotic as it was touchingly sweet. “Spending your whole spring break with ... a woman?”
Her breath was warm on his chest, but not nearly as warm as the heat from between her legs, pressing so eagerly against the outline of his stiffening prick, creeping ever higher along his fluttering belly. “I’d be happy if all we had was this one special night, you know?”
Her gentle murmur fluttered across his throat, the accompanying purr humming through his entire body. “It is special, isn’t it?”
“I mean, it feels special right now.”
She purred once more, the unmistakable press of her pussy ripe and raw against his aching hard-on. “Is that what you call this particular, uh, feeling?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he all but moaned, writhing against her as she replied in kind. “I’ve never felt quite this way before.”
“Funny,” she sighed, gently moving her face away from his body and sliding a bare hand atop each side of his chest. “I was about to say the same thing.”
“So what now?” he asked, desperately hard and pressing against the almost sheer fabric of his favorite sleep shorts. He’d dressed for bedtime, not ... playtime. The last thing he’d expected when he’d changed for the night was to find Emma peering over the fence at him, ripe and raw and ready in her sexy, sheer dress. Now he felt both underdressed and overdressed at the same time.
“Now?” Her voice was as soft as the thin material clinging to his straining cock. “Now I say you pull on my sash and see what I’ve got in store for you tonight, College Boy.”
Mitch literally choked on his own breath, like some clueless dweeb in an over the top romcom. “Are you sure?” His voice cracked as she gently pressed against his bare chest as if to push herself off and away. “About this, I mean? About me? About ... us?”
Emma merely nodded, standing in front of him almost shyly as his trembling fingers troubled with the bow resting atop one hip. “Would I be offering myself up to you if I wasn’t, Mitch? If I wasn’t sure, I mean?”
Mitch fiddled with the bow, watching as it unfurled from a cute, curvy knot into a single sash as he tugged it gently, slowly. Emma unfurled as well, her carefully constructed cougar vibe shattering into a million shards as the breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened with surprise. “But why me?” he asked, as desperate to find out as he was to tease and toy with his pretty new plaything. “Why me out of all the eligible bachelors in Flamingo Shores?”
Emma rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip in equal measure, shivering all over as Mitch made short work of the sash around her waist. “You’re the first one to ask, Mitch,” she insisted, even as her dress seemed to unfold before his very eyes. “The first one to notice me. To ask. To look and see and, hopefully ... want me?”
As if on cue, the sides of the dress parted and slithered away, revealing the copious bounty beneath. Mitch gasped as his eyes drank in the soft, gentle swell of those small, pert breasts, then down across her soft, fluttering belly to spy the carefully tended, thin strip of pubic hair nestled atop the pink, puffy folds of her already slick pussy.
“Want you?” Mitch croaked, his hands reaching for her shoulders to unpeel the rest of the dress, until it slid off and down to an ungracious pile at her bare, squirming feet. “I’ve literally never wanted anything, or anyone, as much as I want you right now, Emma.”
“Prove it,” she challenged, despite the quiver in her throat and the tremor across her whole, luscious body. “Prove how much you want me, Mitch.”
Mitch nodded, glancing around the room quickly as if not wanting his eyes to leave Emma’s ripe, naked body for even a moment. He saw what he was looking for just behind her, then winked as his big hands reached out to clasp her waist. Once again she seized, a thunderbolt of desire coursing through her smooth, flushed skin at the lightest of touches. “Your wish,” he teased, hands sliding up her sides to grip her arms and hoist them high.
“Jesus.” Her voice was deep and raw, like the emotions flitting across her wet, hungry eyes and the seismic ripple coursing through her curvy flesh.
His hands gripped hers, guiding them toward the curtain rod above her head. Her eyes followed, watching as he nodded toward them. “Hold on tight,” he insisted, feeling her hands take over and grip the sturdy rod. “While I feast my eyes and hands all over your bangin’ bod!”
She snorted, a burst of nervous energy unfurling against his face. “Such a way with words,” she snorted just before he kissed her at last, trembling lips smothering her protests in his own.
She gasped when at last he released her, eyes wide as he winked and slid his hands back down her arms as she hung like his very naked, very moist, very eager prisoner of desire. “Is it my words you came over for tonight, Emma?” he teased between playful nibbles of her wet, raw lips. “Or my big, young hands?”
She started to speak, to tease or taunt, but Mitch shut her down with the crush of his lips, no longer shy or beseeching but forceful, thick and commanding. She nodded in reply, as if getting the message at last. Her eyes grew dewy and expectant, waiting, watching what might happen next.
“You didn’t put on that slinky little dress over your naked little bod just to talk, right?” His voice was low and taut, like the desire unfurling deep in his thick, low-hanging sac.
She merely shook her head, eyes wide as if in surprise at his cocky new speech therapy. “Didn’t trim your bush that way just for your own eyes to feast upon, huh?” He was practically grunting, toying with her openly as she willingly, eagerly shook her head.
“Didn’t reach up and grab that pole because I told you to, right?” he murmured as his head dipped closer to one blushing ear. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You did that because you wanted to, right? Because you want this, Emma? Want this ... as badly as I do?”
She gasped, nodding desperately as if afraid to speak. He swallowed the breath in another swollen kiss, wet and thick and desperate, before drifting his lips toward her other ear. “Good,” he breathed, hot and wet. “Then we’re even. Because I’ve never wanted anybody, never wanted anything, as badly as I want you, naked and dripping for me right. Fucking. Now.”
His hands took over, following his gaze and making good on his pillow talk as Mitch’s trembling fingertips dragged down her arms, feeling every tremor and inch of raw, naked flesh beneath them. They gathered in her smoothly shaved underarms, so pale and sensitive as his fingertips raked gently across the tender flesh. Emma merely gasped before biting down on her bruised lower lip, eyes following Mitch’s as his hands descended slowly down to those pert, perfect breasts.
A fresh gasp escaped those gently parted lips, or was it his own? Mitch could no longer tell, lost in his own sordid fairy tale as his fingertips glanced along the hardest, tautest, stiffest nipples they’d ever touched before. She squirmed and bucked in reply, teasing a crooked smile from Mitch’s distracted lips as he tweaked each breast in turn, the flesh beneath his fingertips so ripe and delicate he dared not rush the sheer joy of savoring every inch of it. Above them both, the curtain rod creaked in protest, Emma’s fingers clutching tightly above her gently twisting head.
Her breasts beckoned as well, soft and round underneath as his big hands cupped them gently, the perky summits of her ripe nipples pressing against his palms as he pressed tenderly down, gingerly dragging his calloused flesh across their tender peaks.
Emma gasped and hitched, knuckles growing white where she dutifully gripped the curtain rod overhead, a literal slave to her own desires as Mitch did his best to play his role as the young, awkward, horny tempter. It was, after all, a role he was born to play.
He leaned in, big hands engulfing her small breasts, kissing her breathless at first and, eventually, senseless as well. “Jesus,” she gasped at last, ponytail all but unfurled across her now sweaty and utterly bare shoulders. “Where did you learn to do that, kid?”
Mitch blushed and scoffed at the same time. “Nowhere,” he insisted, his hands relinquishing those perfect, pretty tits at last, gently clinging to her waist instead. “I just, I’ve wanted to do that since we met.”
“Really? Why?”
“Why?” Mitch gushed. “Have you seen these puppies?”
They chuckled shamelessly, Emma hanging, naked and practically dripping with desire from where she clung to a curtain rod over her head and Mitch, cock straining and leaking in his all but invisible sleep shorts, barely held aloft by the loosely tied string knotted around his waist.
“Not the way you do, obviously,” Emma said quietly, shaking her head. “My ex was always on me to get a boob job.”
“Dumbass!” Mitch spat before he could help himself. “They’re perfect just the way they are, Emma.” He kissed her then, sensing her vulnerability even as she hung, tempting and flawless before him. Her lips responded gently, almost gratefully, as if thanking him with a kiss. “Just like the rest of you.”
As if to prove it, Mitch slid his left hand around to cup her round, ripe, perfect ass. She shivered and bucked and gasped anew, flesh so raw and smooth Mitch could hardly help but cup it eagerly in his big, desperate hand. His right slithered across her belly, embracing its soft, fleshy expanse, squeezing and teasing it like warm, damp dough as poor Emma gulped and muttered desperate curses Mitch doubted she even heard escape her gasping, bared lips.
As if to save her voice for other, more pressing matters, Mitch relented and let his aching fingertips dance along her perfectly sculpted strip of dirty blonde pubic hair, damp and matted atop her clearly weeping bud.
Emma seized once more, body growing rigid as his hands made short work of whatever cocky, temptress tease she might have played at before Mitch had stripped her bare in more ways than one. “Jesus,” she cursed anew, Mitch’s fingertips dancing along the crest of her throbbing clit to savor its almost stiff, pliant heat. “Oh. Good. Lord!”
Mitch stifled a chuckle as he began to squeeze with his left hand and tease with his right, a push and pull, back and forth motion that thrilled him nearly as much as it did poor, writhing, sweating, cursing Emma. He’d never thought of his big, veiny hands as weapons before, but when applied to his lover’s sex, they clearly made her defenseless—a writhing, weeping prisoner of her own desperate desire.
He added his lips to the mix, kissing her between gasping grunts and fevered curses, then pressing lower, against each taut breast to lick the sweat clean and clear before favoring her lips once more. She spoke to him in murmurs and wriggles, guiding his fingers where she so desperately needed them to go, pressing against his palm as he glanced back, a warm and ready palette with which she could paint her mounting ecstasy.
“Oh, baby,” Emma grunted desperately as his fingertips deftly traced her puffy folds, dragging along their dripping moisture and incessant heat until she gracelessly spread her legs to all but beg for more. Mitch gave it eagerly, a single fingertip slipping through the tightly clenched gate of her vulva to slide just inside and taste the volcanic heat within for itself.
She hitched, leaning forward to bite into his shoulder as Mitch got the not-so-subtle message and slithered in another finger, dragging them both deeper inside before slithering them gently out and around, all while using his left hand to hold her throbbing, writhing ass in place.
“Oh!” Emma gasped, a new, raw, aching sound to match the fiery liquor coating Mitch’s fingers as he slid them gently back inside, deeper, then deeper still, mining her essence for every ounce of desire the poor woman could spare. “You. Little. Shit!”
He kissed her silent again, sensing the end was near and eager to draw it out as long as he possibly could. That is, without giving the poor woman gasping against his lips an aortic event.
Emma all but hung from the curtain rod by now, arms sinewy and straining as sex sweat drizzled down her flushed, fiery skin. Her thighs were spread, sticky and coated with her liquor as Mitch’s big left hand alternated between flanks, squeezing each in turn as his right hand focused on Emma’s sex, puffy and writhing and ripe for ruin.
And, even as Emma wriggled and jiggled her body in place, Mitch denied her best efforts at guiding him where she thought she wanted him to go and, instead, pressed and squeezed and teased her pulsing bud to within an inch of its throbbing, glistening life.
And then ... just beyond. “Shit!” Emma seized in reply, Mitch’s hand wrapped around the throbbing pulse of her pussy, the heel of his palm meaty and firm against her pounding, seizing clit. “Jesus! God!”
She came then, loudly, richly, unmistakably, the heat and moisture filling his hand as he merely clung to her sex as if to contain its irresistible fury. Her body twitched and turned, as if trying to escape, even as, moments later, she pressed against the palm of his hand anew, releasing one more climax as if to layer it upon the first.
Despite the teeth digging into Mitch’s shoulders or the curtain rod tempted to yank itself free of the ceiling it was bolted into, Emma seemed in no rush to push his patient hand away. And, indeed, Mitch could have stayed there all night, plying his sticky hand against her pulsing flesh.
And, while she greedily writhed and pressed, pulsed and throbbed her way into a third and, then, a fourth orgasm, Mitch grew bolder with each one. He thumbed her to climax next, the pad of his thickest finger circling her weeping bud until it seized and throbbed with undeniable pleasure. After waiting a suitable moment to feel Emma’s teeth dig into his flesh even as her curses drowned his ears, he slid a single index finger along her pulsing folds before seizing upon her overworked clit at last, earning a fresh orgasm in reply.
And then, just when he was about to get his toes in on the act and see what kind of damage his little piggy might do, Emma staged an almost acrobatic escape, releasing her grip from above and slithering just out of reach, gasping and panting as she literally hid behind an armchair.
“Stay over there,” she seethed, breathless and sweating all over the battered leather wing chair as Mitch shrugged and admired the sticky coat of lather that literally covered his hand. “I’ll just make do with all those little souvenirs you left me, Em.”
He licked himself clean, savoring the taste of her essence until all five fingers glistened with his gratitude. Her eyes widened in reply, then traveled down his bare, sweaty chest to the raging hard-on currently tugging his poor, battered, sticky, damp, tented sleep shorts away from his own sodden belly.
“Take a seat, College Boy,” she purred, patting the very chair behind which she cowered. “And I’ll give you a few souvenirs of your own.”