Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,23
trying to meld her to me and pistoned my hips harder and faster. Her nails dug through the material of my suit and stung my flesh, sending lightning bolts of pleasure to my balls.
Her breasts swayed, and I gave in to the need to see them, almost tearing the material in my desperation. Immediately, my hand shot up to cup the heavy weight, pinching the deep pink tip between my thumb and finger. Her other hand held my wrist as if I’d pull away. If possible, she got wetter with each tug and twist. I knew her cum would be on my pants by the end of this, and I may never wash them again, so I could remember the tight squeeze of her body.
“Please. Yes.” She whimpered incoherent words of pleasure and begging. When I dipped my hand between her thighs to strum her clit, she dug her teeth into her bottom lip and pressed her palm over it, falling over the edge into her orgasm. Despite her efforts, her cries slipped free, barely masked by the soft music and conversation below.
Her fluttery pulses demanded I orgasm with her, and I was useless to hold back any longer. Not willing to remove my hands from any delicious part of her, I buried my teeth at the base of her neck and groaned as pulse after pulse of cum shot from my body. Coming inside her felt like touching an electrical wire, and my body vibrated and tingled as I slowly came down from the high.
Gently, I brushed my fingers against her clit one last time and around her flushed nipple, loving the shudder that wracked her body. Pulling back, I licked and kissed the bite mark I left in my crazed orgasm. She rested both hands on the railing, her head lolling to the side while she gasped for air. Hating every second, I tugged the material back over her breast, doing my best to rearrange the neck to cover the bite mark. Part of me wanted to demand she leave it uncovered, so when we went back down to make small talk and drink champagne, everyone could see my mark.
We both groaned when I pulled my softening dick free despite her core squeezing like she wanted to keep me there forever. Before releasing her, I issued one last command. “Wait for me to leave before you turn around. Then wait a few minutes to walk out.”
She merely nodded, and I struggled to pull back and tuck myself away. She stayed slouched over, leaning against the railing as I fastened up my pants. Her soft skin called to me, begging me to touch it one last time before I left. She may not have actually been Verana, but she had me on edge, barely holding back just like Vera did.
Stepping close, I leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss between her shoulders. “Thank you.”
And before I could talk myself out of it, I walked away, refusing to look back.
My plan hadn’t worked. I hadn’t fucked Verana out of my system. I hadn’t fucked Verana at all. If anything, I’d only made myself want her more.
Maybe I needed another round. Maybe I did need to see the woman’s face. Lose myself in the stranger. Maybe that was the answer to blotting Verana out. Something about her was off, and I hated that my gut screamed that she was using me while also screaming for me to take her.
I didn’t like liars, and the instinct that Verana was lying had me holding back.
With that reminder, I decided to grab a drink and approach my vixen again before the night was over. Surely, I could find a way to convince her to come home with me and help me lose myself.
Before I could even make it down the stairs, my phone rang with a call from my grandfather’s caregiver.
At ten o’clock on a Friday night.
Adrenaline flooded my system and had me running down the stairs and toward the door before I’d even answered.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Rush? This is Anthony from Beckett Homes.” The aide annoyed me with his pointless introductions.
“What’s happening?”
“Oh, sorry for the late call. Your grandfather is very disoriented, and we had a hard time getting him to calm down. Then he began asking to talk to you, getting very upset when we didn’t immediately comply, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to call.”
“Give him the phone.” I didn’t have time to be polite.