Page 59 of Wild Thing
After years of not seeing her, and days of restraint from not touching her, I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.
We crossed the road and settled against the wall of a building to wait for our rideshare. Dylan leaned against the wall, her hair catching the moonlight. A few strands had slipped free from her sleek bun. She was so breathtaking it made my thoughts evaporate.
Unable to resist, I tucked the stray strands behind her ear. She responded by wrapping her arms around my neck, rising on her toes to kiss me.
Her lips were soft, her tongue smooth. She tasted sweet; like a sugar coated almond. I pressed closer, grinding my hard cock into her, making sure she felt just how badly I wanted her.
“What are we doing?” she asked, breathlessly, in between kisses.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
She hooked a leg around my waist and slid her arms around my neck, pulling me back in. My hands found her ass—firm, perfect, fucking incredible—and I gripped it, drawing her even tighter against me.
We were making out like a couple of lovestruck, horny teenagers when our car arrived.
We slid into the backseat, quickly telling the driver the hotel address. I didn't even have a chance to put my seatbelt on before Dylan’s lips were on mine again.
We were losing control, desperate to get back to the hotel.
I needed to be inside of her.
We’d already crossed a line; we may as well fuck.
Guilt struck me though—and it wasn't just because I was cheating on Ally. Somehow my conscience found a way to talk to me despite the tongue assault that was occurring.
Breathless, I broke away from the kiss.
“Dyl, there’s something you should know–”
“Sshh,” she said, biting my lip in the backseat. “No more talking.”
“It’s import–” I forgot what I was saying.
Dylan was rubbing my cock through my jeans and sucking on my earlobe.
Holy fuck, that felt good.
A pang of guilt hit me again, but it didn’t matter—it wouldn’t feel wrong for long.
The driver announced we'd arrived, cutting short our backseat spectacle. I handed him a twenty, a silent apology for the live soft porn performance.
With my hand on Dylan's waist, we hurried into the hotel lobby. I didn't want her to feel pressured, nor did I want her to feel like I was pushing her into doing something that she might regret.
But I would have been lying if I didn’t admit that I wanted every part of her.
Over and over again.
Right fucking then.
“Dylan!” a man’s drunken voice called out.
I quickly dropped my hand from her waist as she spun around to face the voice.
Steven.
That prick she worked with.
God, he looked like fucking shit, smelled even worse. A mix of whiskey, piss and peanuts.
