Page 60 of Jesse

His cock slips out of my mouth and I jerk it hard. Looking up into his eyes. And I say, “Come on my tits, Jesse. Come on them right now.”

He doesn’t want to.

I mean, of course he does. But he knows. He now knows just how bossy I am. Just how out of control he is.

Because he grits his teeth. Clenching his jaw. Trying his best to hold it in.

But my hands. Oh, my hands are magic right now. And his dick is slick with my saliva so they slip and slide along his shaft. Gripping tight.

“Do it!” I say. “And next time I’ll let you come on my face.”

Shit. That kinda slipped out. There’s not going to be a next time. But whatever. It works. Because he opens his mouth, and pulls my hair, and the next thing I know his milky-white come is spurting all over my breasts.

I bite my lip to stop the smile.

He bows his head and closes his eyes. His cock still jerking and trembling from his release. His come still spurting out in small bursts.

I lean forward, grab a fistful of his shirt, and wipe my mouth.

He doesn’t even care.

Not now, anyway.

But he will.

Take that, you arrogant bossy brother.

“Fuck,” he says, sitting down on the bed and flopping backwards.

This gives me a really nice, long look at his cock. Because it’s still hard and it flops back with him. Flat against his stomach. Lying to the side a little, accentuating the cut muscles of his hips.

Damn.

Why does he have to be so hot?

“Emma,” he says, extending a hand.

I squint my eyes at that, but his are closed so he doesn’t even see it.

“Come here,” he says, when I don’t speak or move.

“Why?” I ask, standing up so I can look down on him.

He’s unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh, no, motherfucker,” I say. “We’re not—”

“Shut up,” he says, eyes still closed. “You fucked up my shirt already.” He says this as he twists and turns to take it off. “Might as well use it to wipe your tits too.”

I frown.

He throws it at me. Still, those eyes are closed. Like he’s beat.

I catch it and shrug. It’s probably a two-hundred-dollar shirt. So what the hell. I wipe his come off and throw it back, making sure it lands on his face.

He laughs, fucking eyes still closed, and tosses it aside. “Come here,” he says. This time his fingers do that little beckoning motion. “I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to hold you.”

“What?” I snap.