Chapter 444: The Filthy Perfect Rub

Mia turned her face and found his mouth. The kiss was messy, she could taste herself on his lips from how close he’d been to her chest, or maybe that was just heat and spit and the way he kissed like he was still hungry. His cock throbbed against her ass. She reached back again, shoved at the waistband of his shorts, and he helped her get them down just far enough that the bare heat of him slid into the slick crease of her.

Not inside. Not yet. Just that filthy, perfect rub, his length nestled where her ass met her thigh, her wetness painting him every time she moved.

He groaned into her mouth.

"Mia. If you keep that up I’m going to stop being patient."

"Then stop being patient."

He laughed, low, and sucked her nipple back into his mouth instead of answering, as if he could have both, tease her and give in at the same time.

His fingers curled inside her and stayed there, rubbing that spot in short firm strokes while his thumb worked her clit and his mouth made a wet, obscene seal over her breast.

She came like that: shirt gone, one breast shining from his mouth, the other filling his hand, his cock sliding filthy and thick between her cheeks, his fingers buried in the mess she had made while she thought he was dreaming about someone else.

Mia shook. She said his name like she couldn’t help it. Stan held her through it, sucking her through the aftershocks, groping her like he couldn’t stand to let the softness go even while she clenched and trembled and tried to remember how to breathe.

When she slumped back against him he finally lifted his mouth, kissed the wet nipple once, almost gentle, then kissed the corner of her jaw.

"Still think I was dreaming about the poster girl?"

Mia’s laugh was wrecked and small. "No."

"Good." He rolled his hips, letting her feel how hard he still was, how little of this was finished. "Because I’m not done with these." His hand squeezed her breast again, possessive and teasing. "Or the rest of you."

The amber light held. The door stayed shut. He ducked his head and took her nipple back into his mouth like he meant to keep his word, and Mia, already sensitive, already smiling into the pillow, arched into him and let him.

He was still on her breast when the aftershocks thinned out, mouth lazy now, licking more than sucking, like he couldn’t quite stop tasting her. His cock lay thick and wet along the cleft of her ass, twitching every time she breathed too deep. Mia felt it. Felt how little of him had been given anything except the grind and her hand through cloth.

Courage arrived the way her arousal had, slow, then all at once.

She reached back, hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, and tugged. Stan lifted his hips to help without making a joke of it.

The fabric dragged down his thighs. Cool air. Then he was bare against her, heavy and hot, the full length of him settling into the small of her back before she even turned.

Mia shifted. Sat up a little. The amber light made a poor lamp and a perfect excuse, just enough gold to see the shape of him and not enough to hide how her mouth had gone dry.

It was a lot.

Thick at the base, darker along the vein that ran the underside, the head already slick from her, from the way he had been sliding between her cheeks. When it twitched, once, sharp, like it knew it was being looked at, she gasped out loud.

Stan’s mouth left her nipple with a wet sound. He watched her face instead of her hands.

"Why you looking at it like that," he said, voice wrecked and amused. "Do you want to suck it?"

The smirk was there. Soft around the edges. He expected her to blush and hide and maybe stroke him with her fingers again.

Mia’s voice came out smaller than she meant, almost careful.

"Would you like it if I lick and suck it..."

Something went through him so fast he had to lock his jaw. The innocent tilt of it, the way she asked like she was offering tea, hit harder than if she had been filthy on purpose. His cock jumped again in the low light. She saw that too.

"Yes," he said. Immediate. Rough. "Of course. Fuck. Yes."

She crawled.

Not graceful. Knees in the sheets, shirt long gone, breasts hanging heavy as she moved down his body until her face was merely inches from him. Her breath touched the wet head. Stan’s stomach tightened. He smiled anyway, fond and wrecked.

"What are you waiting for," he murmured. "You can touch it."

Mia wrapped her fingers around him the way someone holds a lollipop, curious, too gentle at first, thumb and fingers not quite meeting. Heat. Weight. The skin velvet-tight over how hard he was. She gave an experimental squeeze and his hips twitched into her fist.

Then she leaned in, still watching his face, and dragged her tongue up the underside in one slow, thorough lick.

Stan groaned. Low. Honest. His head tipped back for a second before he forced himself to look at her again, because she was looking at him, studying, like his sound was the whole point.

’She’s watching me like she’s taking notes. Like my dick is a test and she wants the right answer.’

The innocence of it was insane. No performance. Just Mia, lips shiny, eyes up, trying to see what made him break.

She did it again. A longer lick, flattening her tongue so she could feel the vein. Then she nosed lower, hesitant, and licked his balls, soft, warm, a little clumsy. Stan’s hand fisted in the sheet.

"Fuck, Mia."

She glanced up at once, checking. The look on his face must have been enough, she licked there again, slower, then sucked one gently into her mouth like she was experimenting with the idea. His groan went ragged. She filed that away and came back up.