Page 47 of Stroked Hard
That ass.
That perfectly round, bubble ass. She has it on full display and before I know it, I’m grabbing my wallet and painfully jogging out into the parking lot. Taco giving me zero encouragement whatsoever. The little dickhead.
Every step is like a bag of needles digging into my legs but the one thing propelling me forward isher.The chance to talk to Melony.
Last time I saw her beautiful face was two days ago, when I walked her to her apartment and held her hand. What a fucking day that was. So many ups and downs, so many unsure lustful looks from her. Fuck if I didn’t go home after that and jack off in the shower . . . twice. Her body language around me is very stiff, very uninterested, but those electric-green eyes of hers, they speak a different story. They dilate and have a certain haze to them when I step close, when I touch her a certain way . . . when I call herbaby.
She fucking wants me. I can see it in the way she looks up at me through her eyelashes, those ovals flirting with me. Fuck. I see it when I walk up to her and she gives me a once-over, thinking I don’t notice.
Oh, I fucking notice. I see the way she stares at me, the way she analyzes the scruff on my jaw. Does she think it will leave beard burn? Does she wonder when it would feel like having my head between her legs, my rough cheeks rubbing against her delicate inner thighs?
I sure as fuck hope she does, and I hope she gets just as turned on as I do thinking about it.
She has earphones in, connected to her phone, which is strapped to her bicep, and her back is toward me. I want so badly to slap her ass, brand that fucking ripe peach so every fucker in this city knows she belongs to me, but I don’t think that will go over well.
So I settle for something else, that most likely won’t go over well either but I’m sore as shit and little snuggle might just heal me.
Walking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my chest. Just as I suspected, she goes into “kill the psycho holding me” mode and starts flinging her arms about, knocking out her earphones. Leaning close to her head, avoiding any kind of head butting, I say, “I like it when you’re feisty.”
From the sound of my voice, she stills and stiffens at the same time . . . just like my fucking dick thanks to the soft skin of her toned stomach resting in the palm of my hand.
“Hollis.” It’s all she says but the hitch in her breath speaks a thousand words. “You can’t just walk up to people like that.”I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t walk up to anyone like that. Just you, baby.
I turn her in my arms so I get to see her face and I’m awestruck when I see her up close. She doesn’t have any makeup, her face is fresh, young, with little freckles speckling her cheeks, freckles I’ve never noticed before.
I don’t counter her lecture, instead, I run one of my thumbs over her freckles but don’t get to partake in the sensation very long because she quickly pulls away, pushing me with her hand to my chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You have freckles.”
Slightly embarrassed, she covers her cheeks with her hands. “I don’t have makeup on.”
“I noticed. You’re fucking breathtaking.” I step closer, but she steps back, frustrating the fuck out of me. “Stop moving.”
“I don’t have time for whatever game you want to play.”
“I’m not playing games. I came down here to see if you needed help stretching after your workout. Stretching buddies are always appreciated.” I do a little tricep stretch of my own over my head.
“I haven’t worked out yet, I’m about to get started.”
Scrunching my eyebrows together, I say, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you, you shouldn’t stretch without warming up?”
“That’s a myth.”
I shake my head. “It really fucking isn’t.” She doesn’t believe me, so I give her my best example. “Have you ever had a Laffy Taffy before?”
“What does this have to do with stretching?”
“Humor me?” God, this woman. Stubborn as hell.
“Yes, I’ve had a Laffy Taffy.”
“Let me guess, you like cherry flavor?”
She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, propping her boobs up slightly. Fuck, they would fit so perfectly in my palms. They aren’t too big, just big enough that I know I would have no trouble fitting them entirely in my mouth.
“My eyes are up here, Hollis.” She draws my attention with her fingers, pointing to her head.
