Page 512 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

And I feel myself soak his jeans.

“Talk to me,” I beg.

“How do you touch yourself?”

His next breath shoves out broken

as he massages his cock in his fist.

“Slow at first,” he murmurs,

his damp lips brushing mine.

“Tryin’ to make it last long as possible. Thinkin’ about how wet and warm you get for me. How tight you grip me when you let me in. I think about you, Allison… back at your penthouse touchin’ yourself while thinkin’ about me. Only me. You knowin’ what I’m doin’ and gettin’ off on it too.”

“I do,” I murmur,

watching him stroke himself.

His head falls back against the seat, lashes low. “Then I just lose it,” he says, defeated, his fist dragging his cock, looking at me with that open-mouthed, fucked-out stare.

“Ti supplico… prendimi,” he rasps.

My hand wraps his, stopping him,

and I sweep my thumb over the tip,

catch the leak of pre-cum he’s spilling for me.

I bring it to my mouth,

lick him off my thumb⁠—

warm, faint taste, salt and sweet,

the first time I've ever tasted anyone.

His throat bobs as he watches,

brows knot up, eyes gone.

It ruins him.

The sight alone ruins him.

My thong is still hooked around his fingers when he grabs the back of my neck and drags me closer.

In that same second, I take over his cock.

He’s hot in my palm as I stroke him, nudging his nose with mine. “I masturbated in your bed Christmas Eve,” I confess.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I haven’t washed those sheets since Thanksgiving ‘cause they still smell like you.”

He sinks two fingers into his mouth, wetting them until his spit drips to the knuckle.

Then he slips his hand down between my thighs, and he drags his spit up through my slit and over my clit.

A warmth instantly spreads inside me.