22 - Nathan #2
“Up.” My fingers tug on the button of her pants. My voice is husky and demanding, and I half expect her to argue.
Instead, she does as I ask, raising her hips enough that I can slide her pants past her ass. I smirk. “Wesley Miller, following my orders, for once.”
“I’m very coachable,” she murmurs, hips still raised while I take my time pulling her pants off, dropping kisses on the small bruises that scatter across her legs from her practices and games.
I slide back onto the couch by her feet, grabbing each of her legs. “Prove it by being a good girl and putting your legs on my shoulders.”
Her eyes widen with surprise, but she spreads her legs anyway, letting me slide up the couch while she drapes them over me. I finally have the view I’ve been aching for.
Her panties match her bra, with the same lace frills at the top. My focus, though, is on the obvious damp circle her arousal already created on the fabric. I can’t resist placing a tantalizing open-mouth kiss against it, sucking it into my mouth.
My first taste of her is better than anything I could’ve hoped for. Without even taking her panties off, she’s responsive and desperate.
She combs her fingers into my hair, gripping it tightly as if to hold me in place. I’d stay right here forever if she wanted, breathing in the scent of her wetness. I pull the fabric down her legs, then slide a finger up her slit.
“Fuck, your pretty little pussy is weeping for me.” I dip my finger into her, and she moans. “You’re so tight around me, too.”
I grind my cock into the couch as her legs tighten around me.
“Nathan, please,” She cries when I pull it out.
I slide two fingers back into her, feeling her stretch for me as I push them deeper.
“I like you like this,” I tease, leaning down and gliding my tongue along her center. “Losing control for me.”
I’m starting to think I like her anyway I can have her.
I close my lips around her clit, sucking it into my mouth, relishing in the taste and the moan it pulls from her.
My fingers keep up their steady rhythm, pumping into her pussy as I flick my tongue across her clit in a repetitive motion.
Her hips start to work against my face, her grip tightening in my hair.
“That’s it, Wes, ride my face.”
The sharp bite of her nails against my scalp has me feral for her. I’d gladly walk around wearing her nail marks all over my body if I get to have her like this.
I glance up, meeting her hooded eyes before sucking my fingers into my mouth slowly.
My cock twitches at the way she sucks on her own lip in response.
I can’t resist moving up her body and crashing my mouth onto hers.
The kiss is rushed, the taste of her arousal on both of our tongues.
Somehow, it’s not enough. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough.
My finger moves in gentle circles against her clit, slow and steady.
Her breath comes shorter against my mouth as she bites my lip. She might just fucking ruin me.
I move back down her body and join my hand between her legs. With my finger still working her, I slide my tongue inside her pussy. She clenches around me. There’s nothing I want more in this moment than to be the one she comes undone for.
I drive her closer to the edge.
“Wesley, I’m fucking begging you.” I drag my thumb across her clit. “Come on my tongue.”
It sends her toppling over. She cries out my name as the orgasm courses through her, and I almost come in my boxers at the sight of it.
Wesley Miller shattering for me, because of me, might be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I mentally memorize the version of her lying below me with her eyes closed, utterly relaxed. It’s my favorite version so far.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” she says, still breathing heavily.
I flash an arrogant smile.
Then there’s a knock at the door, loud and persistent as if whoever it is has been knocking for a while. It’s loud enough to jolt us both out of whatever trance we were in.
It’s insistent, echoing through the apartment like whoever is on the other side has decided subtlety is no longer an option.
“What the hell,” Wesley breathes, already scrambling upright.
My heart slams into my ribs as another knock follows, harder this time, the sound bouncing off the walls. We move at the same time, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and whispered curses.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing for my sweatpants where they’re tangled on the floor. I shove one leg in, then the other, hopping as I yank them up while the knocking gets louder.
“Who is that?” She whispers, wide-eyed.
“I don’t know,” I say, even though part of me already does. My brain catches up as I’m pulling the waistband into place.
The pizza.
Ordered before the guys left and completely forgotten. Of course, this would be how the universe chose to remind me that I shouldn’t have been doing what I was just doing.
“I’ll get it,” I say quickly, already moving.
Another knock lands as I reach the door. I yank it open to find a delivery guy holding a stack of boxes, irritation written all over his face.
“Finally,” he says. “I’ve been knocking forever. Oh shit. You’re Nathan Wilder.”
“Yeah, I am. Uh, sorry.” I pull my wallet out, tipping him more than necessary to make him go away faster.
Hopefully, he’ll keep his mouth shut about what he might have heard. Once I have the boxes, I shut the door with my foot. The silence now feels deafening.
I hesitate in the hallway, not knowing what version of Wesley will exist when I walk back to her. Will she regret this? Will she want more? Will I be able to play it cool? I don’t feel cool. I feel confused. Stressed.
I don't like her. I can’t. At least, not as anything more than a fling.
Reentering the living room, my heart slams against my ribs. I freeze.
Wesley is sitting on the couch, knees pulled up slightly, with my white cut-off hanging off one shoulder. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun with loose strands framing her face.
The girl who always seems to have it all figured out looks vulnerable. Like the weight of what we did is settling in for her, too. As the heat dissipates, reality sinks back in.
I’m at a loss for words, part of me wanting to take my clothes back off her and repeat everything we’ve just done, while the other part is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“We, uh, ordered this earlier,” I say quietly, raising the pizza in front of me.
She nods, fingers worrying at the hem of my shirt. For the first time since she showed up tonight, neither of us seems to know exactly what to say.
“I like pizza.” A shy smile ghosts across her lips.
I smile, setting the stack of pizzas down and grabbing a box from the top. I make my way over to her and sit down, close enough that our legs brush.
The knocking is gone. The panic has faded. What’s left is the reality of us, half-dressed, sharing pizza, pretending this hasn’t changed everything.