Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

his cock still covered by his sweats. Excitement runs through my body like an active livewire, making my entire body feel needy and sensitive. He stops when he’s a breath away, making my body rejoice and also protest because that small space is too much.

He leans close, his nose gently skimming the sensitive stretch of skin below my ear, and then his hot lips press against my skin, making me shiver. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

I’m not even a novice at dirty talk, because that implies I’ve actually tried it. I’m still fifty yards from the starting line, and my nerves are another hundred yards behind that.

He kisses me again, and I watch as he moves his hand over his thick length. His teeth catch my neck, a teasing warning that makes my heart rate spike. “Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

Where I’m physically aching. My breasts. My nipples. My waist. Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. I’m so desperate to feel him I don’t even care if it’s on my legs. I just want to feel him against me, watch the way he looks at me as he touches me, as though mesmerized by the act.

I can feel his smile as he kisses my neck. “Stop thinking, it’s just me. I know you want me. Your breasts are heavy. I know that you’re wet and aching and waiting for me to slide my fingers inside of you and make you come. All you have to do is tell me if you want me to finger fuck you or play with your gorgeous tits.” He dots a line of kisses over my shoulder and then straightens, eyes hooded as he looks at me, waiting for my direction.

“I want your hand between my legs.”

A slow grin stretches across his face, and he releases himself and methodically moves his hand, tracing over my seam, making my entire body tremble with desire and need, and then he stops, applying only enough pressure to feel like torture.

“Pax,” I growl, my entire body on fire, my muscles strained and threatening to snap. I move my hips over his hand, trying to create the friction I’m so desperate for.

He kisses my mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips and fucking my mouth, making my entire body jealous. Then he presses against my core and moves his fingers over my slit, making me gasp and moan as I feel the quick fissures of pleasure easing that ache. He kisses my lips. “Do you want me to finger you?”

“God, yes,” I say, tipping my head to the side, wanting his mouth on me, but too distracted to kiss him.

“Tell me,” he says, obliging and kissing my neck.

“Finger me, Pax. Please. God, now.”

He circles my clit through my underwear, then grabs the lacy material and slips them down my legs, leaving them to pool at my ankles. He slips his fingers over me, tracing circles over my entrance in a slow and teasing pattern. “You’re so wet,” he says. “God, I want you.” He growls and kisses my neck, his teeth intensifying the sensations, and then he moves over my clit, and I can hear my desire as he traces back over me and slides his finger inside of me. I moan, arching my back, wanting to feel every part of him.

“Turn around, put your hands on the bed.” His voice is a demand, a tone that anywhere else would have me furrowing my brow and asking questions, but here without clothes or rules, it’s so ridiculously sexy that I don’t question it. Instead, I do what he asks.

Pax places his hand on the globe of my ass, kneading his fingers into my flesh, and then slides his other hand between my legs, rubbing over my clit in a mind-bending pattern that has my legs struggling to maintain my weight as my muscles start to tremble. I am so close to coming, but before the pleasure swallows me, he moves his hand to my entrance and slips two fingers inside me, a delicious wave of pleasure ripples through me that has me raising my hips to get a better angle and feel him. He slips his fingers in and out of me, my breaths growing ragged as I climb back to that pinnacle right before an orgasm, but once again, he stops.

“Paxton,” I beg.

He leans over me, kissing along my spine. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

“I want to come,” I tell him, my voice treading on frustrating and desperate.

He presses another kiss to my back. “That’s my girl.” His fingers play me like an instrument that he’s been playing his entire life—like he knows every note, every secret. I fist his sheets, my body vibrating, fearful he’s going to stop again and also fearful he won’t and that this pleasure is going to end because this feeling of being on the edge of bliss and the after is so damn addictive and consuming that I never want it to end. Then he moves his hand from my ass to my clit, while he’s still fingering me, and the world turns dark, and I see stars as I cry out my release.

I’m pinned against his bed, my face buried in his comforter as I try to recover when I hear the sounds of a condom ripping open, and I look over my shoulder at him, watching as he rolls it over his length. My breath hitches with anticipation that I’m going to feel that same wave of pleasure again.

He places a hand on my back, slowly drawing his fingers over me, reawakening every inch of my body, and drawing me to place my knees on the mattress. He kisses the middle of my back, then a little higher and higher until he reaches my shoulder, and then he presses against my entrance, pausing a moment.

I look over my shoulder again. He watches himself lower into me, and it’s the most erotic and sexy thing I’ve