27. JULES #2
‘Wanting independence when you’ve never had any doesn’t make you an idiot.’
His smile’s tired. It hurts to see him so sore, so agonised, so uncertain. He’s not the Tiago I know. I’d give anything to cheer him up.
In fact, I know exactly how to do it.
‘Can you, like, press play?’ He raises his eyebrows, pointing to my laptop on the coffee table.
I bite my lip. ‘I have another idea.’
I slide my hand slowly across the sofa. With a feather-light touch, it slinks up the outside of his thigh. Comprehension dawns in seconds.
I hold his gaze. ‘Is this—?’
‘Yup. Consenting.’
I snort. ‘You could play it a little cooler.’
‘Fuck cool. I almost died today.’
Fair enough. My fingers travel down the inside and his legs part so quickly I swallow a chuckle. There’s only so much I can do with him in this state so I need to maximise my variables. I get up to dim the lights when I hear a plaintive, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Be patient.’
‘This isn’t funny, Jules, I’m an invalid.’
This time I do laugh as I sync my Spotify to the speakers and play a little mood music.
‘Since when do you listen to J Balvin?’ he asks.
‘Just stop talking.’
‘But—’
I stand in front of him and bring my finger to my lips. It works, and I have a feeling someone could knock on the door right now and he wouldn’t notice. I wish I wasn’t in a sweatshirt and yoga pants but we take what we’re given.
Painfully slowly, and with unbroken eye contact, my fingers find the cuffs of my jumper and lightly pull.
I mirror it on the other side, moving gently to the music.
I ease it over my head and let it drop to the floor.
From the mesmerised look on his face, you wouldn’t know I’m in gym leggings and a one hundred-year-old white t-shirt.
The swell’s already visible between his legs.
I turn away from him to start on my trousers, throwing my hair over one shoulder and watching him over the other. My hips sway as I roll my leggings down my thighs, and I bend to give him an uninterrupted view of my arse.
His hand slips under his waistband.
‘Nuh-uh-uh,’ I chastise, pausing, bent over. ‘That’s not part of the deal.’
‘But—’
‘Out.’
He frees his hand with a harrumph.
‘That cock is mine,’ I order. I might be imagining it, but I think I catch it jolt.
I continue slipping my leggings down until they’re pooling at my ankles, where I carefully step out.
I turn back and step closer so I’m right in front of him.
His eyes are glued to my boobs under my shirt, and I thank my lucky stars I’m at least wearing nice lingerie.
Fingers splayed on the opposite sides of my stomach, I drag the fabric up my torso and finally over my head.
My bra straps fall one by one, and I bite my lip as I reach behind, unclasp it, and throw it in his lap.
Without putting too much weight on him, I ease down and start to lightly grind my sex up the long plane of his thigh.
Each sway of my hips feels incredible. I can’t help myself pressing harder, my throbbing clit eager for more pressure.
Strong hands find my tits, caressing my taut nipples as I soak through my thong and drag my wetness up and down his leg.
‘I’ve missed these,’ he says, hoarse. ‘The most perfect titties I’ve ever seen.’
I arch my back, thrusting my chest towards him. He wastes no time holding me there and burying his face between my breasts. I grab the back of his hair and push him deeper, only freeing him enough to let him nuzzle them in turn.
He crushes them together and full lips suck my nipples, flicking and swirling his tongue, passionate kisses dancing across burning skin. I’m drowning, lost in his heat and his scent and his strength and him.
‘Take this off,’ he orders, and before I can understand what he’s talking about, he’s snapped both sides of my thong one-handed, and is sliding it out.
‘But you’ll get—’
‘Now do it.’
His hand caresses my waist as I hesitantly start moving again. I’m going to stain his sweats but he doesn’t seem to care. I grip onto the back of the sofa either side of his head to push me deeper. The pleasure’s even sharper, an intense ache that has me spiralling higher and higher.
‘You’re gonna come right there, baby? Fucking my thigh?’ he breathes.
My response is a whimper and I grind faster, harder. He crushes me to his face, and his tongue claiming my mouth is all it takes. I come feverishly, gripping his good shoulder as I drag it out. I lean back so he can watch me taking what I need from him.
When I stand up, it’s impossible not to notice his dick. It’s standing straighter than the Empire State.
‘I think I know what will make you feel better,’ I whisper.
‘You’re doing a pretty good job of it so far.’ His voice is raspy, restrained, like he wasn’t far off coming too.
I nudge him to lift his hips, and undress him like a gift.
It looks even better than I remember. An absolutely gorgeous dick, its fat head glistening, hungry to be sucked clean. No wonder he shows it to every woman he can.
I’m not sure he can take much more teasing so I kneel in front of him like the obedient little caregiver I am, devouring him with no hands.
‘Fuck,’ comes a guttural groan.
I milk his shaft noisily, sucking the hypersensitive tip and releasing it with a pop.
I close my eyes, savouring the feel of him between my lips, the weight of him in my mouth.
Loving that I’m the one to take care of him, that it’s my name falling from his lips.
I deep-throat him, filling every possible space I can give, wanting him as deep as he was in Monaco.
He hisses when I take him in my heavy tits, sucking his tip as they caress his hard length, lapping the beads of moisture leaking from his slit with my tongue. When I glance up, he looks like he’s about to pass out, and my pussy starts to pulse again.
He’s too fragile for anything crazy, so we’re going to keep it classic. Well, maybe a little crazy…