Her lips attack me, kissing my mouth, my cheek, my neck. Gripping her ass, I growl and demand her mouth, conquering her quivering lips with my own. I find the back wall and push her against it so I can grind my cock against her heat. “Touch me, Rhett. Make the ache go away,” she pleads between kisses.
Her hips wiggle, needy and persistent. There’s no way I’m going to fuck her in the back hole of a carnival ride, but I can ease her tension. “Put your legs down,” I command between nipping her lips and nibbling her neck.
Excruciatingly slow, she slides down my body, her pussy grazing the tip of my dick.
Cupping her cheeks, I pepper kisses over her face and lips, down her neck, across her chest. I skate my palms down the same path, unbuttoning the first couple of clasps on her dress, exposing the heaving mounds of her tits.
Allowing myself my small pleasures, I sink my teeth into her flesh, then lick away the sting when she moans out. “I’m going to take care of you,” I comfort.
Her body is trembling so bad, she’s almost lifting from the floor.
Skimming my hands down farther, I trace their path with my kisses over the fabric of her dress until I’m on my knees before her, the palms of my hand resting just below the hem of her dress.
“You sure you want this?” I ask, but she’s answering, “Yes, yes,” before I even finish the sentence.
Slipping my hands up her dress, I caress and tease her thighs, brushing the pad of my thumb over the cotton of her panties, when I reach my destination.
Moving to her hips, I tug down her panties, making her gasp.
When I get them to her ankles, she readily steps out, her chest heaving. She’s already so fucking close to the edge.
Pulling her panties up to my face, I inhale her delicious, sweet essence. Pre-cum seeps from the tip of my dick, dampening my jeans.
Fuck. I’ve never been this horny from pleasuring a woman before, and I haven’t even eaten her pussy yet.
Grasping her ankle, I lift it and place her foot on my shoulder.
She’s mumbling curse words, which, from her mouth, is adorable. She knows what’s coming.
Her in about one minute.
“Hold your dress up so I can look at your pretty pussy, Chastity.”
“You are a bad boy,” she whispers, and I bite down on my lip to stifle the chuckle her words bring. “Only when you need me to be,” I inform her, leaning forward and licking her inner thigh.
Gathering up her dress, slow and deliberate, she exposes creamy flesh one inch at a time, until I’m looking at a small cluster of blonde curls sitting tidy on her mound, decorating the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Her lips are smooth and thick like the lips of her mouth. Damn, she’s perfection.
“I’m going to taste you now,” I warn her.
Grasping her hip with one hand to steady her and wrapping the other arm around her ass, I crush her pussy to my face.
She jolts when my tongue parts her folds, tasting all that nectar hidden inside.
I fucking feast on her like a starving man getting to eat for the first time.
Her clit throbs against my tongue as I swirl and suck, adding pressure where she needs it, taking my cues from her moans and grip she has on my hair.
She moves her hips with me, taking what she needs, grinding and panting. “Oh god,” she pleads, her legs shaking with impending release.
Slipping a hand from her hip, I suck a finger to lube it up, then reach between her legs, slipping the digit into her inviting center.
She clenches around it greedily as I plunge it deep, then pull it back, repeating the process. I speed up with her own breaths, until she’s throbbing and pulsing around me, her release coating my hand.
Her body shudders, and she curls over me, gripping onto my hair tight.
Tight, warm, and fucking beautiful.
Once she gathers her bearings, I ease my finger out of her and look up into her flushed face as I slide it into my mouth, sucking every drop of her from it.
“Sweet like candy apples,” I drawl, and she giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. Helping her get back into her panties, I take her hand and grab her bear, following the faint slither of light streaming in from the far end of the corridor type space.
There’s an exit door that we push through to come out behind the stalls and rides.
“You ready to go?” I ask her, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She falls into me, melting into my side. “Yes. I’m spent.”
Yeah she is.
I couldn’t bear to shower last night, to wash away Chastity’s scent. She was everything and more—delicious, forbidden, sweet as sin.
Her body is so responsive, so needy, so perfect.
There were a lot of guys in high school who bitched about going down on a woman, but to me, there’s nothing better—nothing more masculine than making a woman quiver and come on your tongue. I’d bathe in her juices if I could.
My thoughts wander to God. I have missed calls from him, but if I take the call, he’ll ask me how I’m doing with my task, then he’ll demand to know what’s taking me so long and why I’m avoiding him.
I promised him, and made him promise me, we would do our tasks no matter what the consequences. But I wasn’t prepared to feel this way.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I search the parking lot for one of his fancy ass cars, but like usual, he’s absent from school, making avoiding him that much easier.
He isn’t the only person I’m avoiding. Mrs. Griffin is also on my dodge list. Looking her in the eye and talking about things I don’t want to share with her because I’ve found talking to Chastity oddly therapeutic isn’t something I want to confess to her.
And knowing there’s tension there between her and Chastity makes me not like her. Petty, but I chose a side the minute I sampled the lips of her stepdaughter.
My phone buzzes with a text from the woman in my every thought lately.
Chastity: Educated men are so impressive.
A smile chases up my cheek, and then I smell her before I have time to reply. Warm arms come around my midriff from behind. “Guess who?” she mumbles against my backpack.
“How many guesses do I get?” I tease, and she pinches my ass a little too roughly, making me jerk forward.
She rounds my body with a dreamy sparkle to her eyes.
“PDA in the corridor?”
Shrugging her petite shoulder, she closes in and whispers with a sultry drawl, “Corridors, carnival grounds.”
My hand grasps out, capturing her behind her neck and tugging her to me, my lips taking hers in a deep kiss. Her small hand wraps around my wrist to hold herself steady as I steal the air from her lungs and flavor from her tongue.
She had strawberries for breakfast.
Forcing myself to release her, I relish the red bruising around her lips from my ministrations.
“Wow,” she says in a wonderment filled breath. She’s so adorable, it’s painful.
“You not worried about people seeing you make out with the bad boy anymore?” I torment, but she doesn’t bite. Instead, she stares at me like I made the sun rise.
“As long as he’s only my bad boy, bring on the gossipers.” Her tone is meek, searching for reassurance.
“If you’re willing to be my good girl—only mine—then I promise to be a one-woman man.” I grin to lighten the tension thickening around us. I’ve never had this kind of conversation before. I’ve always bailed before it ever got to this point. This is new ground for me, and there’s these nervous, excited flutterings happening in my gut that make me happy and annoyed all at the same time. She’s grinning so beautifully and big, her hope, her heart mine for the taking.
How could I let this happen? I’m fucking falling for this girl. This wasn’t the plan. I have destructive secrets she can never find out about.
“Do you want to do something tonight?” she asks, checking her watch.
“I have dinner with my mother tonight, but I could see you after?”
Reaching onto her tiptoes, she drops a chaste kiss to my lips and backs away from me. “Call me.”
Her body collides with another student, and she turns to splutter apologies, then sniggers back at me when the guy waves her off and doesn’t stop.
She fades into the crowd, and I remember a line from her audio.
Me: Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.
Send. It’s perfect.
I hate that I’m sat making small talk with my dad and it’s so fucking awkward and forced. Is it supposed to be this hard?
Dad’s phone begins belting out some eighties song, causing the entire restaurant to turn their heads in our direction.
Answering the call, he gets to his feet, dropping his napkin on the empty plate. I’m starving and should be on the second course by now, but Mom is late.
I swirl the soda in the bottom of my glass. After sitting for forty minutes with my dad, I wish I’d added Jack Daniels to it.
A hand lands on my shoulder, jarring me and making me nearly knock the glass over.
My dad frowns, looking down at me. “Something happened with your mother’s car. She’s not going to make it.”
My gut plummets. She’s making excuses to bail on dinner. She’s not ready to forgive me.
“We can still eat,” my dad cuts in.
“No thanks. I said I’d meet some friends, so her not showing is better for me,” I lie, brushing past him.
I need a drink.
Stumbling into the house, I almost fall through the threshold but catch myself.
“Are you drunk?” My dad grimaces.
“Nooope,” I slur.
“Is that really your solution to something not going the way you wanted? Do you care what happened with your mother’s car?”
“Noooope.”
“You’re being immature.”
“Ha, says the man twucking a woman half his age.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his gaze on me. His arms look bigger, straining his shirt. He must be working out more. The brush with death scared him. I grin despite myself, and his stare gets even more squinty.