Page 37 of Haunt the Mall
Why’d he stop touching me? Was I too into the movie?
Propping myself on my elbows, I nudged his thigh. “I also love what you were doing.”
His lip twitched up. “Thanks.”
A groan curled out between us. Was that his stomach?
Flushing, he eased back into his chair. “Perhaps we should eat. We don’t want our food to get cold, do we?”
“No, but are you sure you want to stop now?” I asked. “We might lose, uh, momentum. And you haven’t—”
“I’ll be fine.” He laid a napkin across his lap, but his erection tented it.
I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a laugh. This was ridiculous. “Victor.”
“Yes?” His throat bobbed, and he gripped the napkin tight despite his otherwise calm countenance.
“You can finish.” I scooted closer, my veins tingling with ecstasy. “I want you to.”
“It might be…messy,” he whispered, his gaze drifting toward my lips.
“You have a napkin right here.” I plucked it from his lap, then kissed him soundly.
What would drive him wild? I slipped my hand into his hair and scratched his scalp.
Exhaling softly, he unbuckled his pants and took himself in hand.
I would’ve thought he’d expose himself, hoping I’d suck him to completion. But he pumped without breaking our kisses. The sound of slick combined with the ‘thwap’ of his hand against his clothes quickened my pulse. I wanted to touch, to see. His underwear blocked my view, the mass underneath throbbing and tantalizing.
Victor nudged me for another kiss.
If that was what he needed…
I kissed him and moaned, rubbing my breasts against his arm.
Shaking, he pumped faster. So close. He could barely reciprocate my kisses anymore, his mouth falling open to catch his breath. His eyes were screwed up tight.
Part of me wanted to caress those deep lines between his brows, urge him to unclench his jaw and kiss me better. But he needed release.
Napkin balled in a few fingers, I scratched his pubic bone, teasing, “Until you come, my pussy is the only thing I’ll let you eat.”
He shuddered and rolled his neck.
Good, but not there yet. What would push a guy like him over the edge?
My collar stung, a pleasant reminder of his bite.
Pleasure could come from pain. Did he prefer to give or receive?
I stroked his hair, then gathered it in a fist. He leaned into my touch and nodded ever-so-slightly. Was this what he wanted?
I kissed his cheek, then pressed my mouth to his ear. “Your turn, Mr. Sterling.”
I yanked on his hair.
His hips shot off the seat. Crying out, he pumped into my waiting hand–and the napkin that caught his warm, spilling seed.
“That’s it,” I purred, kissing his neck. “Give it to me.”