“Sir?” a female voice called gently through the wood. “Your room on the deck is ready.”
Fuck
It was the stewardess.
I coughed once, rough and low, trying to clear my throat of the filth that was practically choking me.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said, my voice deeper than it should’ve been
“Yes, sir,” the stewardess answered politely, and I heard the soft click of her heels as she walked away.
I reached for a towel, wiping myself off slowly, still staring down at my c**k, still breathing like I’d just fought for my life.
I was going to see her again.
Up there. On the deck. Looking sweet and innocent with the same mouth I dreamed of f*****g. Smiling like she had no idea what she’d done to me. What she was still doing.
And I knew the truth.
This wasn’t over.
This was just the beginning.
**Lily**
Oh God. I can’t stop.
I tried. I really did. I told myself to shut up. To sit still. To breathe and think about literally anything else. I even stared at the ceiling and counted how many lights there were and tried to remember if I packed my sunscreen, but none of it worked.
Not a single thought could compete with the image of him.
Not one innocent little distraction stood a chance against the mental picture of Connor Blackwood standing in his room next door, naked from the waist up, maybe holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, his c**k thick and heavy in the other, stroking himself while growling my name under his breath like I belong to him.
I’m going to touch myself.
There’s no use pretending anymore. My thighs are already trembling. My panties are soaked. I can feel the slick every time I move, and it’s not just a little dampness.
It’s wet, heat-blooming-between-my-legs wet. And my c**t is throbbing so hard it actually hurts.
I roll onto my side and let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. My heart is racing.
My body is flushed. I’m still wearing this sundress, but it’s hitched up around my waist now, and I don’t remember doing it.
I slide my hand down over my stomach, biting my lip, breathing hard, and I already know I’m about to go completely feral.
I hook a finger into the waistband of my panties and slide them down slowly, just past my thighs, letting the wet fabric cling for a moment before I push them to my knees.
I spread my legs, just a little, just enough for the cool air to hit the soaked mess between them, and I hiss through my teeth because even that tiny bit of contact sends a shockwave up my spine.
I’m so wet. So stupidly, embarrassingly wet. My p***y is swollen and slick, glistening in the low light, and I can already see how sticky it is just from looking down.
I press two fingers into the folds and drag them upward, just a slow little slide from my entrance to my c**t, and I moan. Loud. Real. No-faking-it moan that makes me slap a hand over my mouth immediately.
Because oh my God, what if he heard that?
What if Connor heard me moan through the wall?
What if he knows exactly what I’m doing?
The thought makes my p***y clench so hard I nearly cry. My fingers start moving again, faster this time.
My middle finger circles my c**t, tight and slow, and the second my hips start rocking into it, I’m gone. I can’t stop now.
My mind is gone.
I whisper his name without meaning to. I don’t even try to hold it back. I let it slip past my lips like a secret. Like a prayer. Like a confession.
“Connor…”
It sounds so dirty coming from me. So filthy. So wrong and perfect at the same time.
I slide two fingers down, dip them into my hole, and my p***y clenches around them like it was made for this.
I let out another moan, this one muffled into the pillow, and I feel my legs spreading wider, my body giving in, my mind breaking apart.
I curl my fingers inside me and my back arches so fast I nearly cry out. I’m tight. I’m aching. I’m throbbing around myself like I’ve been needing this for weeks.
I imagine it’s him.
I imagine his fingers instead of mine. Longer. Rougher. Thicker. Pressing deep into me while he whispers in my ear that I’m his now, that this tight little p***y belongs to him, that I’m not allowed to come until he says I can. I imagine him growling in my ear, holding my wrists down while I squirm and cry and beg for his c**k.
I rub my c**t faster.
My fingers are soaked now, dripping with slick, making filthy little sounds that echo in the silence of the room. I’m panting. Sweating.
Humping my hand like a girl possessed. My legs are trembling and my stomach is tightening, and I know I’m close. I know I’m about to come.
“Please, Daddy,” I whisper, and the second I say it, the orgasm crashes through me like a f*****g wave.
“Fuuuuuck… oh my God… yes, Daddy… oh my f*****g God, yes-yes-yes, right there, please-“
My p***y clenches around my fingers so hard it makes my whole stomach lock up. Slick gushes out of me, hot and thick, coating my hand and dripping down the backs of my thighs.
My c**t throbs. My head tilts back. My eyes roll up so far I think I might pass out from how f*****g good it feels.
I keep moaning. I can’t stop. I’m grinding into my palm like I’m f*****g possessed. My whole body is shaking, my chest is heaving, and I don’t even care if anyone hears me.
I want him to hear me. I want Connor to hear the way I scream his name when I come. I want him to know how hard I c*m just from thinking about him. I want him to know that this is his fault.
My moan turns guttural. My voice breaks. It’s not even words anymore.
“Ahh-f**k-yes, yes, yes-so deep-oh my God-it hurts-feels so good-I can’t stop-I want it-I want your c**k-I need it-Daddy-please-f**k me-“
I reach down and rub my c**t with my other hand, fast and tight, while my fingers pump in and out of my soaked cunt. I’m close.
“Please-please, knot me-breed me-I want it-I want your knot inside me, Daddy-“
I’m not even thinking anymore. I’m just begging.
And then it happens.
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