The Blush Factor by Deborah Bladon
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matthew
Small soundsof need thread from her throat as I deepen the kiss.
I part her lips with my tongue, searching for more, wanting to taste any part of her.
She softens in my touch. Her hands search my body, trailing over my arms, then my shoulders and neck until they land in my hair.
They tangle there as I drop a hand to her hip.
It’s a test. Call it a tentative exploration of sorts.
If she were anyone else, I’d have a needy hand in the front of her jeans in search of her pussy.
I want to know what it looks like. I crave the taste. I’d give my left arm to feel its velvet warmth clenched around my dick.
Her tongue flutters over mine.
It’s not a brave move. I feel the hesitation in every single movement she makes.
Her hips rock against my door, sending a thrumming beat into the air.
It’s how a slow wholesome fuck sounds when a headboard bangs a steady rhythm against a wall, but I want more.
I want a raw, rough fuck that stirs everyone on this floor because they can hear the cries that fall out of her.
She pulls back from the kiss.
I almost fucking whine like a spoiled rotten child who has just been deprived of the candy he’s been craving.
“Matthew.” My name comes out of her in a breathy tone. “That was something.”
It was magnificent.
I have zero doubt that I can kiss a woman breathless, but this is the first time I’ve experienced that phenomenon myself.
I struggle to catch my breath as I stare down at her.
Her index finger trails a slow path over my bottom lip. “You read my diary.”
I’ll recite an entry or two for her if she wants, beginning with the one where she falls to her knees and tears my jeans open to get her greedy mouth on my cock.
I remember it word-for-word, including the line about how she’d circle the crown of my dick with the steel ball that is implanted in her tongue.
“I did,” I admit because we’re past that secret.
“All of it?”
Cradling her chin in my hand, I shake my head. “No. I read the first few entries and then the last few.”
Her cheeks blush pink to a degree that far surpasses the scale that she used to use. This is a ten out of five at minimum.
I wait for her to say something, but she stares at me expectantly as if she needs me and all my infinite fucked up wisdom to fill in some blanks for her.
I start at the first entry that had my name sprawled out on the page in blue ink.
“You wanted to kiss me.” I brush my lips over hers for a chaste kiss. “That happened.”
Still blushing, she nods. “Did it ever.”
Since I want more, I go on, “I read that you wanted to feel my fingers on you.”
“On me,” she repeats as a lure for me to say more.
I move so my lips are hovering over her ear. “You want to feel my fingers on your pretty cunt, Faith.”
That lures the softest moan from her. “Oh, my God. Oh, God.”
There it is again. A chant, or perhaps a plea for more. I can’t tell, but I’ll fulfill it, whatever it may be.
“You want that now.” I drop a hand to her waist.
“I want it,” she admits into the skin of my neck.
I barely hear the words, so I ask for more. Call it reassurance to proceed or a selfish need to hear this beautiful woman ask me to touch her in that spot. It’s that spot that I’ve always craved.
The taste, the plush feel, the warmth.
All of it.
“You want what, Faith?” I whisper against her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”
She buries her head closer to me. “I can’t say it.”
“You can,” I insist as I trail my fingers over the waistband of her jeans. “Tell me what you want.”
Her head drops. I know it’s so she can see my hand on her.
The starkness of my tanned skin against the white of her shirt is alarming. My hand is large. Her body, save for her gorgeous tits and ass, is small.
“Say it,” I coax her. “Tell me.”
Her head snaps up, so our eyes meet. “I want you to touch me.”
“On your cunt,” I say the words even though I know they’ll chase her gaze down again.
It does just that. “Matthew.”
I rest my lips against her ear again. Her breathing is staggered. The need is rolling off of her like a building wave.
“You wrote that you want me to slide a hand over your smooth pussy,” I say softly. “Until I feel how fucking wet you are, and then, without warning, I drive a finger into you.”
A small moan escapes her. “Yes.”
“And then another finger until I’m fucking you like that,” I spit out the last four words. “You ride my hand until you can’t take it anymore.”
Her head moves slightly, but it’s not enough for our eyes to meet.
“I fuck you harder with my fingers while I suck on your tit. I roll one nipple between my teeth, biting, sucking, luring you closer to the edge.”
Her hand drops to her stomach. “That’s making me feel…”
“Your pussy is so wet and ready.” I breathe out the words through a groan.
I test the waters by shifting my fingers to the button of her jeans.
I want in.
I want my hand inside of those pants so I can touch her. I need to make her come more than I’ve ever needed anything.
“Then you…” her voice trails as I seamlessly unbutton her jeans.
“Now,” I say. “I want it now.”
“I want it now,” she repeats as the harsh sound of her zipper being yanked down fills the air around us.
