Isabelle #3
My pulse immediately leaps in my throat. Yes. This is what I want. "What if I don't want to go inside?" I move closer, shifting as I hook my ankle around his foot. "What if I want you to do something I know I won't regret?"
I see the muscle in his jaw leap. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do." I reach out and place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath my palm. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I want you, Julian. I've wanted you since Ibiza, and you know it." I lean in closer, my mouth brushing against his ear. "Stop fighting it."
I feel his chest heave, hear the sound of him swallowing hard as his hand slides up my arm and his head turns so that his mouth is against my ear, too. "This is a bad idea."
"I don't care."
"You should." His voice is tight. "Isabelle, you really should."
"But I don't." I look up at him, and in the dim light I can see the desire burning in his eyes, the control that's barely holding. "Stop pushing me away. Stop pretending you don't want this too."
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe.
Then something breaks. His free hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmurs.
And then he's kissing me.
His hand turns my face toward his, and his mouth comes down on mine hard.
His teeth scrape my lower lip, his tongue lashing over the curve of it as he groans against my mouth and pulls me into his lap.
One of the wine glasses knocks over, spilling dregs of wine onto the concrete, but neither of us reaches for it.
His mouth claims mine with a possessiveness that makes my whole body feel weak, his tongue sliding against mine as his hand tangles in my hair.
I moan into his mouth, pressing closer, feeling his body hard and solid against mine.
His other hand drops to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel his erection pressing against me.
"Fuck," he breathes against my lips. "Isabelle—"
"Don't stop." I grab the front of his shirt, holding him to me. "Please don't stop."
He makes a sound low in his throat, and his hands slide up under my shirt.
I start to pull his off, grinding against the hard ridge of his erection as I gasp into his mouth.
He bites at my lip again, dragging his lips down my throat.
"I've been going insane," he mutters against my skin, his teeth grazing my pulse.
"Watching you, wanting you, trying not to touch you. "
"Then touch me." My hands are in his hair, holding him close. "Touch me everywhere."
His hands ride up to my breasts, bare beneath the t-shirt I was sleeping in, and he lets out a pained sound.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Your breasts are fucking perfect.
" His thumbs flick over my nipples, teasing them to hard points, and I nip at his throat, grinding harder against him.
I'm only wearing thin cotton panties under the shirt, and the pressure of his hard cock against his fly is enough.
I angle my hips so the friction is on my clit, and roll them again, gasping.
"Jesus Christ." One hand grabs my hip, his fingers tight enough to bruise. I don't know if he's trying to stop me or guide me, but I keep grinding, desperate to make myself come. "You're trying to kill me."
"Is it working?" I pant, biting at his collarbone as I yank his shirt over his head. He tastes like salt from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, and I lap at him, moaning as I push myself toward the edge.
"Yes." He captures my mouth again, kissing me harder, deeper, as his hand kneads my breast. I arch into his touch, grinding against him, and I'm so fucking close.
This is what I've been desperate for. This heat, this intensity, this feeling of being wanted so completely that nothing else matters.
His mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the way he's holding me like he'll never let go.
"Julian," I gasp when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my throat. "I'm gonna—"
"That's right." He moans against my mouth, his fingers pinching my nipple. "Come grinding on my cock, pretty girl. Make yourself come."
I cry out, the first orgasm I've had with him since Ibiza, tearing through me as I writhe on his lap, rubbing myself frantically as the pleasure overwhelms me. I can feel my arousal soaking through my panties, getting his jeans wet, and I keep moving, desperate for more.
"Greedy girl." He nips at my ear, as breathless as I am. I swear I can feel him throbbing through the denim between us. His hand dips down, tugging my panties to one side, and I moan at the fresh friction against my swollen clit. "You want more?"
He presses two fingers against my entrance, and I almost sob. "Yes," I plead, still rubbing my clit against the bare denim of his jeans now. "Please. I need something inside of me. I want your cock…"
"Then earn it." He bites at my earlobe, breathing hard as he pushes his fingers up into me. "Come all over my hand so I can lick it off while I fuck you, pretty girl. Give me a little taste of what it's going to feel like when you come all over my cock in a minute."
I nearly faint with relief, hearing that. I'm going to get what I want. He's going to fuck me. All I have to do is give him another orgasm…
That's easy. I moan as he pushes his fingers up into me, gasping, bucking my hips onto his hand as I rub myself against his jeans and the thick cock trapped beneath them. I'm going to come, and I need it so badly, again and again…
"That's it, pretty girl," he breathes into my ear. "Fuck yourself on my hand. Show me how bad you want that cock."
"I have been… for… since… Ibiza," I pant out, and he chuckles.
"Remind me," he growls into my ear, and I lose it.