13. Chelsea #2
His body moves against me as I move my hands around his neck, holding on.
“Chelsea," he whispers against my neck, before running his lips down my skin. “Fuck Chelsea.” His hardness is pushing against my thigh, letting me know how much he wants me. And God, I want him too. I’ve been damp just thinking about him, about all of them, and though they've toned down the flirting, just being surrounded by them all afternoon has been torture.
I've had dreams about that night, every aspect of it.
Now I’m feeling it again, and it hits just as hard as the first time. Maybe even worse, because now I know what's at the other end, I know the pure ecstasy I'm going to experience in his hands.
I know where each gentle touch is leading, the heat that expands just from a single brush of his hand as it slides up my abdomen.
I move, mewling and encouraging it higher until it finally cups my breast. He’s so gentle with it.
He doesn’t squeeze it, only holds it, almost reverently, worshipfully, as he molds it in his hand.
I gasp when his thumb finds my nipple with ease, even though my mind falters.
As he moves it in slow circles, it rips a strangled moan from my chest. His kisses get even slower.
“I want to savor this,” he says. “I don’t want to rush it like last time.”
Last time was rushing?
I remember it being almost torturously slow, the way each man took his time exploring my body and driving me to the peak. If that was rushed, then what kind of torment awaits me this time?
“Oh my God, Sam." In one fluid movement, he undulates, and his cock hitches against my clit.
I’m melting into him, my brain turning into mush. I should protest, but as the desire spikes through my body, all I know is that I want to come.
I move above him restlessly, wanting more of that pressure, but he doesn’t give it to me.
As a matter of fact, he does the opposite.
He lifts his leg slightly, shifting me away from his cock.
When I groan a protest, he fits his lips back against mine, his fingers plucking my nipple at a maddening cadence.
I’m drowning in his taste, in the feel of him.
He slowly drifts his hand down my body, between my legs.
Yes. The gasp echoes in my head. I want more.
I open for him as he slides my skirt up, thankful that I thought to wear this instead of the pantsuit, so he has easy access.
And when he pushes underneath my panties, and his hand touches my slit, I feel like screaming.
“Please,” I say.
“Please, what?"
“Stop teasing me.”
“But I love teasing you," he says. “I love your reactions, baby." He slides his finger up my thigh, playing with the wetness that has dripped there. "I love how wet you get.”
My breath hitches in my chest, and he moves higher, shifting my panties to the side. When his hand finally cups my damp skin, I groan, and so does he.
“Fuck,” His voice is harsh, sounding strained, and that’s what really gets me going. He’s not as calm as he attempts to portray.
His hand is shaking, and he might be just a little bit on the edge, the same way I am. All I have to do is push him over.
I slide one hand down his body, and he catches it with his.
“Chelsea.”
"Sam," I say, and our eyes meet in a clash of desire. He wants to take this slow, and while I admire and enjoy that, right now what I need is for him to fuck me so hard I can't breathe.
He smiles. “Just let me do what I need to do. I promise I’ll make this so good for you, baby.
"It’s already good."
"I can make it better."
I bite my lips, and he kisses me again, sapping the strength from my whole body, and my hand falls with it.
The seat lowers gradually until I'm lying stretched out above him, and then he lifts me higher, until my pussy is on his chest.
His intent glows in his eyes, and anticipation is like a drug in my blood.
I've dreamt about this.
Ever since he ate me out that first time, I've craved it again.
As he shifts me higher, I close my eyes.
I don't know if I can take it.
I think I might die if it happens, and I won’t be able to control myself because already my synapses are all firing at the same time, and my nerves are going haywire, and ooooh...
And I’m right
The second this mouth touches my pussy, I come.
He moans as I flood his mouth with my release, and he doesn't stop.
He eats me out madly, his tongue curling around my clit, making me scream and lengthening the explosion.
He keeps going regardless, not stopping, even when I’m shaking on the descent.
I'm lost in a different world. I'm floating in space, as my soul sings for more satisfaction.
Then someone raps on a distant window.
And I hear, "Now that's just not fair.'
My eyes fly open, and my head snaps to the side. I have the vague idea of Jake standing there, before Sam manages to wring out another strangled orgasm for me.
I get my wires crossed and end up saying some garbled combination of both their names.
Then reality hits me like a freight train.
And then I'm slapping at Sam's shoulder to be let go, rolling over to my seat, and yanking my clothes back into position.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," Jake says, still with that amused tone. "I can leave again if that's what you want."
No, it's not what I want.
I want. God,.. I don't even know. My mind is a mess right now. Why did I just do that? What's wrong with me? Why can't I spend five seconds with one of them without completely losing my head?
I don't say anything as I get my clothes right and open the door.
"Chelsea," Sam says, but I flinch away from his touch as I bolt out of there.
I don't stop until I'm down the street, breathing hard
I keep walking, not knowing where I'm going.
After some time, I became aware that there's a car following me.
"Let me give you a ride."
"No, I'll call someone."
"Then wait in my car until they get here."
"I'm not getting in your car."
"Chelsea..."
I turn on him. "What?"
I don't know why I'm so mad at him. Well, it's probably more than I'm mad at myself, but he makes a convenient outlet for my anger.
I see him smile at me through his windshield.
"I know you're probably embarrassed right now, but I think you should know that I'm not judging you at all.”
I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. "Maybe you should be."
"Why? Because you're a gorgeous, sensual woman who gives in to her passion now and then. There's nothing to judge?"
"Yeah, right," I say. "I know how this looks."
"I guarantee you don't. You think I'm mad or jealous, but I'm not. I've always been good at sharing."
"This isn't about sharing! I don't want to be shared! That's what got me in trouble in the first place, fucking my brother's friends, who also happen to be my clients, and now I'm standing in the middle of nowhere and pregnant–"
I break off, gasping in horror and slapping my hand over my mouth.
But it's too late.
In my turmoil, I made a stupid mistake.
And he heard it.