Page 69 of Dirty Like Dylan

And my eyes rolled back in my head. My mouth stretched open in wordless want. I spread my legs to give him access.

Even as I did it I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I shouldn’t be giving into this. Not if I hoped to have any chance with Dylan.

So why was I giving in to this?

Why was Ashley Player kissing my neck?

Why was his finger up my—oh, God. Two fingers. And his thumb, rubbing circles around my—

“I—I really thought you… um… preferred men…” I managed, even as his fingers stroked in and out of my pussy in that way only a man could do it—rough, aggressive, hungry. And with skill. No hesitation. Even I didn’t love putting my fingers up there all that much. And not like this. But his? … Holy shit.

He’s done this before.

Like, a lot.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he murmured as he licked my neck.

“Ah… what?” I tried to turn to look at him, but he held me where I was, pinned to the table.

He snickered against my neck. “It’s a joke. From The Simpsons.”

“Oh.” Huh? I was kinda lost, forgetting what the hell we were talking about, or not caring, as his fingers worked me into a hot panic. Shit, why was this so hot? Ashley’s fingers are up inside me.

So. Hot.

He shoved me forward, bending me over the table, and pulled my dress up over my ass as he kept fucking me with his fingers. I heard him undoing his belt and my core clenched with need. My pussy squeezed on his invading fingers.

Oh fuck, yes.

Was I about to get fucked on Ashley Player’s dining room table?

God, I hoped so.

But then he knelt down…

He licked me, his tongue circling lazily around his fingers, teasing me while he held my panties aside, his fingers working inside me, and I bit my lip. Hard. He was kissing my clit… Then he was sucking on me and kinda growling in the back of his throat, in a way that left no shred of doubt in my mind that the man liked pussy.

This man, apparently, fucking loved the pussy.

Maybe a gay man would flirt with you and even make out with you a bit, for shits and giggles… but he definitely wasn’t gonna suck on your clit and lap up your juices, all the while growling like he was hungry for more… all the while he finger-fucked you, digging into your front wall in relentless pursuit of your inner happy spot…

Then suddenly, his fingers withdrew, and I mewled in protest like a starving kitten denied a saucer of milk. He laughed. But he pressed me down to the table, his hand warm on the small of my back, as if to say, Stay right the fuck there.

I stayed.

I heard him fumbling around below as he kept eating me out, his pierced tongue thrusting deep into me and undulating around. I writhed on the table, gasping. I would’ve purred if I knew how. I heard the rip of a condom packet, and a moment later Ashley rose to his feet, towering over me where I lay, melted onto the table, quivering.

After being tongue-screwed like that, I wasn’t going anywhere—like even if the house caught fire. I was just gonna have to hope that if that happened, he’d be decent enough to carry me out; otherwise, I was going down in flames.

He rubbed his cock against me and it felt so so sooooo good. Warm and smooth, hard and slippery. Big. Enough to fill me up and then some.

Yes, please…

“You want this cock, Amber?” he asked, his voice rough with lust as I squirmed at his touch, trying to push myself onto him.

“Yes…” I breathed. I felt something hard but smooth nudge against me as he slicked his dick over me again. One of his rings? Or… shit.

Was his cock pierced??