a rock star, and I love that! I hope she doesn’t look at him like this. I try and fail not to think about him as I squeeze her petite-sized, perfect tits together. Her nipples are dark and round and practically look painted on against her milk-colored skin. I ought to make her feel special, craved, and instead, I have this egotistical need to make sure she won’t fucking look at him ever again without thinking of me. After we fuck, what if she goes back to him? This broken ballerina should find a new man, a good man.
I slide my hand down to her smooth cunt and find her clit, giving it a polish with my thumb. My tanned hands accentuate her fair-colored skin. She has zero hair and her softness drives me bonkers. I can smell our arousal and the scent makes my mouth water. As much as my dick tickles to be inside her, I know she needs to come first. A gentleman always lets his lady go first. I don’t know her body well enough to make this good for both of us and I’m not sure how many chances I’ll have to get it right. We ought to play and get acquainted first prior to fucking. My tongue hasn’t even been formerly introduced to her pussy yet.
Her intoxicating scent paralyzes my common sense. I wish to ask her to properly show me how she makes herself come. My mouth salivates at the mere thought of watching her play with herself and then tasting her as she comes. I asked her to bloody sit on me, why can’t I ask her to play with herself? I’m being a pussy, afraid to chance pushing her too far by being a bit too kinky for her.
I flip us over gently and kiss her again. I can kiss this bird all day. Every time we kiss, her eyes enlarge and she wears this shocked look on her face. It’s quite sweet, almost like she can’t believe we’re doing this. Well, I, too, can’t believe we’re doing this. I hope this isn’t another big blunder. The thing with Emily and me in St. Lucia is starting to feel like a big muddle and I don’t want this to feel wrong, too.
“I know I said no more yapping, but what are you thinking, Sara? You’re all right with this, right? I want you to be square and happy about us being like this.” I pray she doesn’t put the kibosh on this. She gives me a small smile and even that is glorious. Who knew a girl’s smile could feel this fucking good? If she laughs, I may die.
“I like this, I haven’t felt this good in a very long time. It’s nice and I’m glad it’s you who’s making me feel this way and not him.”
Him! Him! Him! There is always a fucking him! Why is there always someone who stands in the way of me having what ought to be mine? I don’t know what those two have, so how am I supposed to compete with it?
“Liam, what’s wrong?” She cups my face, trying to get me to look at her. I guess I can’t fib to her, either, and everything I feel must be written on my traitorous mug. “Look at me, we’re having fun, just fucking, right? I’m helping you get Emily out of your head and you’re helping me deal with my issues.”
I try to shut my brain off and work her out of my system quickly, before she becomes a permanent tenant.
“Yes, yes, we’re just fucking, love. My whole life is actually just about fucking and this is exactly what I needed. I need to bang a broken ballerina, and you need to fuck a delusional Brit. Clearly, this is what we both need,” I say, without chancing a glance at her. The truth in a nutshell: we’re two broken people trying to help each other break even more.
I actually don’t feel like doing anything with her anymore. These head games that make up my life are starting to make me wish I could be a castaway somewhere far, far away. I wouldn’t even bring a wretched ball with me, because I’m sure it would find a way to fuck up my life somehow.
She continues to hold my face as I try to free myself from her grip and get my bum out of here. I’ve heard enough, I’ve seen enough, New York hates me