Chapter 9 Pumpkin Patch Disaster #4
Every glance at the mirrors showed me a picture I barely recognized—me, wild-eyed, open, trembling, body desperate for every inch of his attention. Derek’s own reflection looked hungry, dangerous, but so gentle, too. Like he was afraid of breaking something precious.
Hands slid up, roaming over my hips, waist, ribs, then up to my chest. Callused palms brushed my nipples, rolling them between rough fingers, making me arch off the bed, mouth falling open.
“God, Derek, please—” The words came out broken, gasping.
His tongue flicked out, tasting a bead of sweat at the base of my throat, then trailed lower, lips worshipping every patch of skin, teeth leaving little marks in his wake.
“Love the way you sound when you’re begging,” he growled, voice deep and rough, vibrating against my sternum. “Don’t hold back. Want to hear everything.”
I let my head fall back, eyes catching the reflection of Derek kneeling between my thighs, mouthing at my stomach, his big hands sliding up to squeeze my pecs, thumbs stroking over hard nipples again and again.
His mouth made a messy trail from one side of my chest to the other, biting and sucking, every touch a new spark.
“Fucking perfect,” Derek whispered. “I want you to see how good you look falling apart. I want you to remember every second.”
My hands tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him up for a kiss, mouths colliding, hungry and filthy and desperate. His hands never stopped moving—palming my chest, tracing my abs, worshipping every inch of me with rough reverence.
“Stay just like this for me,” he commanded, voice all velvet and steel. “Don’t move. Watch yourself. Watch what I do to you.”
Every nerve in my body was strung tight, electric with want, the sight of myself in the mirrors somehow making everything dirtier, more urgent, more real.
The air between us pulsed, thick with want. My chest heaved, desperate for more—anything Derek would give. Warm hands landed at my waistband, fingers slow and deliberate as they worked the button of my jeans. The sound of the zipper lowering, teeth parting one by one, sent a shudder through me.
“Need you out of these,” Derek said, voice rough, lips ghosting over my jaw, his breath hot enough to make me squirm.
Denim peeled down my hips, inch by torturous inch. He tugged until my jeans pooled at my ankles, leaving me sprawled out in nothing but soft black briefs, cock straining for attention, the fabric damp and stretched tight. The vulnerability, the exposure, only stoked the hunger.
Strong palms skated over my thighs, gripping, kneading, thumbs digging into muscle. “Perfect fucking thighs,” Derek muttered, nipping at the sensitive skin, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin. “Could spend all night here, just worshipping you.”
A needy whine escaped before I could bite it back.
My legs parted wider, inviting more, the sight of myself in the mirrors—spread open, flushed, wild-eyed—spurring me on.
Derek’s hands slid up, fingers hooking in the waistband of my briefs, snapping the elastic before pressing his nose right to the damp bulge.
Deep inhale, almost animal. “You smell so fucking good. Been wanting this since the first night I saw you. Every time you walked past me, all attitude and sass, I wondered how you’d taste, how you’d sound falling apart for me.”
The tip of his tongue traced the outline of my cock, heat pulsing through the thin cotton. He mouthed at the head, sucking hard enough to draw a wet patch, teeth scraping just enough to make my hips jerk. One hand held me down, pressing my stomach to the mattress, refusing to let me move.
“Hold still,” Derek ordered, voice dark and sharp. “Let me have you.”
My body obeyed before my mind could catch up, every muscle strung tight. His nose buried itself at the base of my cock, inhaling, humming, lips pressing kisses through the soaked cotton, tongue tracing the thick ridge. The friction, the denial, drove me wild.
Not content with just taste, Derek let his mouth roam lower, burying his face between my thighs, nose rubbing up against my balls, tongue lapping over the cotton, soaking the fabric.
Fingers dug into my ass, squeezing, spreading me wide, making sure I could see everything in the mirrors—the flush on my cheeks, the way my cock throbbed, the utter worship written on Derek’s face.
“Bet you’re dripping for me,” he growled, voice almost unrecognizable. “Want to taste every drop, but not yet. Need you desperate first. Need you begging.”
A helpless moan tore from my throat as he mouthed back up to the head, sucking hard, teeth nipping at the tip. His free hand kneaded my thigh, sliding closer and closer to the edge of my briefs, fingertips teasing the crease, never quite giving me what I wanted.
“Fuck, Derek, please—” My voice shook, hips straining against the bed.
He grinned, lips slick, eyes burning. “Say it again. Want to hear you beg for it.”
My pride crumbled under the weight of need. “Please. Want your mouth. Want you to take everything. Need you—”
Fingers trailed up to my waistband again, but instead of stripping me bare, he just pulled the elastic down an inch, exposing the root of my cock, tongue lapping at the newly bared skin.
Kisses pressed along my hipbones, slow and dirty, leaving marks that would last. One hand snaked under the band, palming my cock, squeezing gently through the thin fabric, teasing me until my vision went blurry.
Derek’s mouth never stopped moving—licking, biting, sucking every inch of skin he could find. His teeth grazed my thigh, tongue dipping low, chasing every shiver and gasp. “So fucking perfect for me. Never want to let you go.”
The words made me ache, body thrumming with pleasure and want. Each new touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, every second pushing me closer to the edge.
Without warning, Derek hooked his arms under my thighs, yanked me up and back, and tossed me onto the bed. The world tilted, body bouncing against soft sheets, head spinning. I sprawled across the mattress, chest heaving, legs open, cock straining under the tight fabric.
Derek followed, looming over me, gaze searing. “You’re mine.”
His body caged mine, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my hips, hands braced on either side of my head. The weight, the presence, the way he filled my vision—it was overwhelming, perfect, exactly what I’d craved.
Mouth landed on my throat, sucking a bruise just below my jaw, tongue tracing the line of my pulse. Teeth grazed my collarbone, biting hard enough to make me arch, gasping for breath.
“You see that?” Derek whispered, dragging my face toward the mirrors so I could watch the mark bloom. “That’s mine. You’re gonna wear it for days.”
His hand slipped under my back, arching me up, lips following the curve of my spine, worshipping every inch. Palms slid over my ribs, fingers splayed wide, mapping me, memorizing every reaction. The roughness, the care—it was all-consuming.
Lips found my nipple, sucking, biting, tongue flicking in rapid, filthy circles. His other hand finally pushed the waistband of my briefs lower, exposing more skin, never fully undressing me, just teasing, just building the tension to a fever pitch.
“Gonna take my time with you,” Derek promised, voice dark honey. “Want you ruined, needy, begging for more.”
Derek’s tongue flicked my nipple, sucking hard, then biting down just enough to make me jolt, back arching into his mouth. Each pass of his tongue left me shivering, thighs trembling, the need between us thick enough to choke on. His teeth released me, breath washing hot over my skin.
“Can’t wait to see what those hands can do,” he murmured, voice thick with promise.
A surge of boldness overtook me—reckless, breathless, starving for him. My hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers sliding beneath to feel the heat of his skin, the ripple of muscle over his ribs and stomach. Nails scraped lightly, dragging goosebumps in their wake.
“Take it off,” Derek whispered, the command velvet and electric.
Every movement felt deliberate, every second stretched, as I sat up and tugged his shirt higher, exposing the golden skin beneath, dusted with dark hair that begged to be touched.
My lips followed my hands, brushing over his abs, his chest, his nipples—tongue flicking out to taste the salt there, biting at the hard peaks, making him grunt, his hand fisting in my hair.
The shirt finally cleared his head and I tossed it aside, drinking in the sight before me. Derek on his back, broad shoulders pressed to the sheets, chest rising and falling with anticipation, muscles tensed and waiting for me to make my move.
Fingers mapped his body with reverence and need, palms exploring every plane and curve. My lips found his throat, teeth scraping at the pulse there, then down to his collarbone, my tongue trailing after, tasting, memorizing, marking.
“Is this what you wanted?” I asked, mouth pressed to his skin.
He tipped his head back, exposing more throat, inviting more attention. “You have no idea.”
My hands slid lower, tracing the line of his waistband, thumbs hooking in the band of his jeans. I looked up, eyes catching his in the mirror, a wicked smile twisting my lips. “Your turn to show off.”
He growled, a deep, rough sound, and lifted his hips so I could drag his jeans down, inch by slow inch. The sight made me ache—thick thighs dusted with hair, muscles shifting beneath my palms. Denim slid past his knees, pooling at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but snug, charcoal-gray briefs.
The bulge straining the fabric was obscene—thick and long, leaking a dark patch right at the tip. My breath caught, need surging, my hand drifting over the swollen outline, thumb circling the head, teasing him through the cotton.
“Fuck, Miles—” Derek’s voice broke, hips jerking.