Chapter 443: Mouth On Her

’He’s going to make me say it. He’s going to make me admit I came in here already thinking about this.’

"Stan" ℴ

"I’m here." He kissed the back of her shoulder, then the side of her neck, open-mouthed, tasting the heat under her skin. "You can still pretend I’m asleep if you want. I’ll keep my voice down."

She pinched the forearm wrapped around her waist. He smiled into her hair.

The hand between her legs stayed unhurried. Circles. A shallow press that made her thighs try to close and then open again. Behind her he rolled his hips in the same lazy rhythm she had started, the thick shape of him dragging along the cleft of her ass, caught between her softness and his own shorts.

"Last week we kissed," he murmured. "This week you want the whole show. What changed?"

Mia swallowed. The truth sat hot on her tongue. "I kept thinking about it. Your mouth. How you didn’t stop me. I told myself I’d only cuddle. Then I got on the bed and you were warm and I" She cut herself off when his finger finally pushed into her, just the first knuckle, and her sentence turned into a broken inhale.

"And you what."

"I wanted your hands on me. Even if you weren’t really there to give them."

Stan’s forehead dropped to her shoulder. "Damn, Mia."

He added a second finger when she was ready for it, stretching her slow, curling just enough that her back arched and her breast filled the hand still cupping her over the shirt. The fabric was in the way now. He felt it the same moment she did, the cheap thin cotton bunched under his palm, the nipple tight and wasted against cloth instead of skin.

He didn’t ask.

His hand left her chest, found the hem, and dragged the shirt up. She lifted her arms without being told, shy and eager in the same motion, and he stripped it off over her head and tossed it somewhere the amber light didn’t bother to follow. Cool air hit her skin for half a second. Then his palm was back, bare this time, taking the full heavy weight of her breast like he had been waiting to do it without the lie of fabric.

Mia gasped. The sound was different without the shirt to muffle it.

"There you are," he said, and it was filthy only because it was fond. He groped her openly now, squeezing, lifting, letting the soft mass of her spill over his fingers and gathering it again. His thumb found her nipple and rubbed, then pinched, rolling it until she whimpered and pushed her chest into his hand for more.

’He’s not being careful anymore. He was careful when he was pretending. This is him actually wanting it.’

"Stan, your mouth"

He heard the request inside the gasp. "Turn a little."

She did, twisting at the waist, enough that her back still stayed against him but her chest angled toward the dim gold of the room. The new position put her breast right where he could duck his head. He didn’t tease the distance. He put his mouth on her.

Hot. Wet. Sudden.

Mia’s hand flew to the back of his head and stayed there. Stan groaned against her as he sucked, taking as much of her into his mouth as the angle allowed, tongue flattening over the nipple then flicking it, then sucking again harder until her hips jerked on his fingers. He groped the other breast with the hand that wasn’t inside her, kneading the underside, thumb dragging over that nipple too so she wouldn’t feel neglected even while his mouth was busy being greedy.

"Fuck, Stan"

He pulled off just far enough to speak against the wet peak. "You put my hand here like I was a toy. Fair I use my mouth how I want."

"I didn’t, ah, think you’d actually"

"Suck on you?" He did it again, slower, letting her feel the pull, the faint edge of teeth, the way his tongue circled like he was learning the exact shape of her. "I’ve been thinking about these since you sat that ass on me. You feel how heavy they are in my hand? You walk around like this and then sneak into my room and act surprised I want them in my mouth."

Mia’s laugh came out wrecked. "You’re so, mean when you’re awake."

"You like it." He switched breasts, licking a stripe over the other nipple before closing his lips around it and sucking until her thighs shook. "You’re squeezing my fingers every time I talk."

She was. She couldn’t stop. His fingers worked her in time with his mouth now, in, curl, drag out, smear her own wetness up to her clit and rub, then back in, while he groped and sucked like he had decided her chest was the point of the night. Spit made her nipple shine in the amber light when he pulled off to breathe. He looked at it for a second, then dove back in.

’He’s going to leave a mark. I want him to leave a mark. I want to look tomorrow and know he did this while I was still pretending I only came to cuddle.’

"The girls at the game," she managed, because the insecurity was still there under the heat, smaller now but not gone. "They were screaming your name."

Stan lifted his head. His mouth was wet. His eyes were dark. He squeezed her breast, deliberate, and brushed his thumb over the nipple he had just been sucking.

"They can scream it," he said. "You’re the one I’m sucking on. You’re the one dripping on my hand. Say my name again."

"Stan."

He smiled, then put his mouth back on her like a reward. Harder this time. He groped her with both intentions at once, the hand on her chest rough and admiring, the hand between her legs filthy and precise, and she started coming apart in pieces. First the sounds. Then the way her ass ground back on his cock with no rhythm left, just need. Then the way she pulled his hair when he bit down gently on her nipple and flicked it with his tongue at the same time.

"That’s it," he muttered against her skin. "Your breast is so good..."