Ruby #2
His hands push under the T-shirt I stole from his bag.
“Seeing you in my clothes . . . my baseball cap . . . my shirt with my name on it . . . you’ve no idea how hot it is.
How it drives me crazy . . .” They never stop moving, like he’s feeling me out, memorizing every inch of my body, over my hips, around to my stomach, between my legs.
His fingernail teases along the soaked fabric of my panties, and I whimper in desperation when his hands disappear far too quickly.
When he touches me again, the relief is almost embarrassing, though adrenaline soon takes over as his hands inch up the backs of my thighs to my ass.
“You look so perfect like this. Arse up, waiting for me.” His fingers slip under the elastic.
“Knowing that you can control my ponies with a squeeze of your thighs, yet right now you’re at my mercy .
. . Fuck, seeing you out there today . .
.” He presses the length of his cock between my ass cheeks.
“I was so proud of you. So fucking proud that you’re my girl.
Everyone was watching you, and you’re mine. ”
In one move, he tugs my panties down to my knees. Cool air hits my pussy, and holy crap, I’m a squirming mess. He hasn’t even touched me yet.
He leans back, assessing me. “Look at you. So messy. So perfect.”
I’m seconds away from begging him to touch me when he dips down and drags his tongue up the seam of my slit.
“I’ve thought about how you’d taste, Rubes.” He groans, taking a second swipe. “So many times.”
Once again, the warmth of his tongue is followed by the frigid AC, and the noise that escapes me is fifty percent huff, fifty percent whimper. One hundred percent beg.
“Miles—”
“Yes?” His tone is all insolence, reminding me of his warning. This isn’t going to be a quick one-and-done. Nothing like I’m used to.
“Please . . .”
He takes another long, deliberate stroke with his tongue. His fingers find my clit, running torturously slow rhythmic circles around the hard nub. It’s been a long time since anyone but me touched myself like this, and I’m so close to coming, but the pressure isn’t quite there.
And it’s deliberate. Miles plans to torture me.
“Please, what? Please fuck you? Please make you come?” He tsks loudly, his breath labored.
“Both,” I cry out as he slips a finger inside me, followed by another.
I’m so wet I barely feel it.
“All in good time, sweetheart. We need to warm you up first.” His fingers pull out and push back in, curling around, hitting that spot no one ever reaches. “You’re so tight, Rubes. You're gonna squeeze my cock so good.”
His groan hits every corner of my body, yet I need more.
My hand shifts from the position on the mattress, moving between my legs to where his fingers are still fucking me, and I find my clit. I can’t see him, but I hear his low chuckle.
“So fucking impatient. So much fucking trouble,” he mumbles, wrenching my hand away and pinning it with my other one above my head.
His body drapes over mine. With my arms in the position they are, it’s too heavy for me to hold myself up, so my face drops to the pillow. Miles’s nose nudges along my jaw, pushing the mass of hair off my cheek. I’m still ass up, exposed, pussy aching, and in dire need of attention.
The solid length of his cock presses into my back. “You’re so desperate to come, aren’t you, Trouble?”
I moan a throaty “yes” followed by a sharp intake of breath as he reaches between my legs.
His fingers part me, spreading my arousal everywhere.
His body surrounds mine, heavy and oppressive, his hips holding me in place.
I try my best to catch my breath, but it’s like there’s no more oxygen in the room.
The pads of his fingertips swipe up and pinch my clit.
My back arches in response, only I hit the wall of muscle that’s his bare chest. Every cell in my body throbs as his fingers roll over my clit again.
They strum a pattern—fast, slow, circle—teasing and bringing me to the brink of orgasm but never letting me release.
His stubble brushes against my cheek, and he sucks my earlobe onto his tongue. The sensation, combined with his fingers working between my legs, sends shock waves down my spine, and I’m a mess. A sweaty, dripping, panting mess entirely at his mercy.
“I’ve fucked my hand every morning since we married, thinking of you exactly like this.” The pace of his fingers increases, bringing me to the edges of hyperventilation.
I’m lightheaded, the room spins, and my body is singing with the most delicious pain.
“You like that, Rubes? Making such a mess.” He murmurs against my ear, “Just wait until it’s my cock—”
My orgasm hits out of nowhere, and Miles’s fingers don’t let up once. Not when my cries are smothered in the pillow, not when I collapse onto the bed, and not when I’m gasping for air. Only when I’m literally sobbing that I can’t take any more does he relent.
I’m flipped over. His head disappears between my legs, and as my muscles relax into the post-orgasmic haze, I’m treated to the gentle glide of his tongue up my inner thighs.
Miles hums with pleasure as he moves across my hot, damp skin, tongue piercing inside me, mouth latched and sucking on my pussy lips.
He’s so careful, taking all the time in the world to lick me clean so that when he reaches my clit, I’ve been built up once more into a wriggling, writhing mess.
“You taste so fucking good,” he says, sitting back on his haunches.
For the first time, I’m treated to the sight of his face, damp curls flopping to the side, lips glistening with my arousal. Eyes dark as the night sky.
He looks so goddamn decadent—muscles accentuated by the glow of the moonlight, smirk quivering, hooded eyes raking over me—that I feel positively wanton.
He gets up without a word, drops his pajama bottoms, and I swallow hard.
His cock stands to attention, saluting what Miles just did to me. So long, so thick. When I felt it rub against my hip, I thought I could take it, but watching him wrap his fist around it, his fingers barely overlapping, I was grossly mistaken.
“Don’t worry, Trouble, you’re so wet right now, I’ll slide right in.”
Miles’s eyes never leave me, taking long languid strokes of himself, tongue swiping his bottom lip.
He oozes sex. I want to give myself a pat on the back for lasting this long against him because watching him now, I don’t know how I did it.
I’m transfixed by the rhythm of his fist, the lazy way he pumps himself, and the precum dripping out of the head that he smears down the long, hard length.
I want to taste him. I want him to fill me.
Every nerve ending in my body is buzzing.
My thighs flop open, his T-shirt rides up, and my hand finds its place between my legs again.
He shakes his head, slowly. “No. Not happening, Ruby.”
Reaching down, he wraps his hands around my ankles, and I’m yanked down the bed until my ass hangs off. The force of the movement brings the shirt high enough to expose my breasts.
“Fuck, you’re pretty . . .” He groans, strong palms slide up my calves. “I wish you could see yourself like this. Spread in front of me, pussy swollen, so fucking perfect . . .” He bends my knees back, placing my feet flat on the mattress. “Stay there.”
The bed is the perfect height. Closing the inches between us, he rubs his crown up and down, parting me, slicking through my arousal, slow and measured.
“Are you on birth control?”
“Ye—” The rest of the word dies on a strangled breath as his dick pushes inside me.