Page 68 of The Wrong Monster

The lace is rough against my tongue, but her skin is hot. She arches against me in desperation with a whimper.

“Tell me you want it,” I command, hands running down the back of her thighs, between her legs tauntingly.

“No,” she answers stiffly, face set in determination.

But her exposed skin erupts in goosebumps, a flush at her throat beautifully fading toward her breasts. I pull the shirt the rest of the way off, press a hand to her stomach and slide the other between her legs, cupping her through the jeans.

“Tell me.”

Her lips purse tight. A sign, I know now, that I’m frustrating her; pushing her to the edge. Good. That’s where I want her.

She grinds her hips forward once, then reaches between us and undoes my belt with a jerk. My mouth opens in surprise, but before I can say anything, she slips her hand in and pumps me once, twice.

I’m hard instantly. As if I wasn’t already halfway there.

“If you say one word,” she threatens quietly, pumping my cock so slowly I have to fight not to buck into her touch, “I’ll walk right out of here. Understand?”

My blood is like fire in my veins. I nod, mind fuzzy as I stare up at her.

Pure perfection in black lace. Cold blue eyes, a smirk on her lips as she keeps teasing me.

Just when I’m considering asking what, exactly, her plan is, she stands and steps back just enough to strip my jeans off. I help her with the boxer briefs, shucking them down my legs, watching and fisting myself as she struggles out of her own clothes.

The panties match the bra.

I want that lace on my tongue again. This time, the heat of her core grinding on my face.

But Matilda Pierce has other plans. Unsurprisingly.

She straddles me again, pressing us together until my cock is throbbing against the heat of her pussy, separated by rough lace that feels like not enough and too much at the same time.

“Off,” I mutter against her mouth, this time in English. But my animal brain takes over, and I take hold of the panties on either side of a seam, pulling taut and ripping them down the side.

Matty slaps my chest, her brows knit. But her mouth is parted, small pants coming out, and when I snake my hand between her legs, she’s wet for me.

Rising up just enough, she slots herself over my cock, and I’m enveloped in heat and velvet and a sensation so all-encompassing my eyes almost roll back. All I can do is curse, head falling back against the couch, as she seats herself fully on my length with a low moan.

My hands rest on her hips, too blissed out to do much as she rides me slow and steady.

Each roll of her hips slides that wet heat up and down my cock, teasing when she almost comes all the way off before pressing back down. The only sounds in the room are from our bodies working with one another, the whimpers that escalate as her pace picks up, my groans as heat starts to coil in my balls.

“Fuck,” I breathe, tilting my hips up at an angle and hitting a spot that makes her gasp. “Yes. Just like that. Good girl, Matilda.”

A low whine escapes her pursed lips, and her eyes go wide. Ah. So that’s what she likes.

“You’re being so good for me. You like this, right? Fucking yourself with my cock. Keep riding me. Just like that. No!” I grip one of her hips, holding her high up with her thighs clenched and the head of my cock just inside her entrance.

“No further than that. You can only get a taste, just that.”

She bounces frustratedly, each press into her pussy sending shockwaves through my nerves.

Now she’s openly panting. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.

“Umnitsa,” I praise, repeating it in English to feel her pussy clench around me: “Clever girl. You listen so well. Now you can take me.”

With a rough tug, I pull her down so abruptly that she cries out. Her body goes stiff as she comes, pumping herself over me erratically, her thighs trembling as I try to keep up the pace before I lose myself.

Matty’s hair comes undone, curls bouncing out of the low bun as I fuck her.