Beautiful Player (13 page)

“Squeeze it,” I whispered. “I like it pretty hard.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, it’s fucking
killing
me.”

“Let me try.” She gently pushed my arm away with her free hand.

It freed me to cup her breasts, and I bent down to suck one nipple into my mouth, blowing lightly over the peak.

She moaned, her rhythm slowing for a moment before she sped up again. “Can I keep doing this until you finish?” she asked.

I laughed quietly into her skin. She had me practically vibrating, struggling to not lose it every time she slid her hand down and over the head of my cock. “I was kind of counting on that.”

I sucked on her neck, closing my eyes and wondering if she’d let me mark her there, so I could see it tomorrow. So everyone could. All around me the world seemed to spin. Her hand felt good, of course, but the reality of
her
absolutely rocked me. The smell and taste of her smooth, firm skin, her sounds of pleasure simply from touching me. She was sexual and responsive and curious, and I wasn’t sure I’d been this turned on in a long, long time.

The familiar tension built deep in my belly, and I began to rock forward in her grip. “Hanna. Oh, shit, just a little faster, okay?” The words felt so much more intimate this way: spoken into her skin, my breath ragged.

She faltered for only a second before responding, pulling
harder and faster, and I was close—embarrassingly soon—and I didn’t give a single fuck. Her long, slim fingers wrapped tight around me and she let me suck on her bottom lip, her jaw, her neck. I knew she would taste good
everywhere
.

I wanted to show her how it felt to be fucked.

With that thought, of falling over her and into her, making her come with my body, I leaned into her, begged her to bite me, bite my neck my shoulder . . .
anything
. I didn’t care how it sounded; somehow I knew that she wouldn’t balk, or recoil from the reality of this admission.

Without hesitation, she leaned in, opened her mouth on my neck, and pressed her teeth sharply into me. My thoughts blurred, everything flashed hot and wild; for a moment it felt like every synapse in my body had rewired, unplugged, gone off. Her hand slipped over me fast, my orgasm barreling down my spine and I came with a quiet groan, the heat crawling up my spine and pouring from me into her hand and over her bare stomach.

Just when I needed her to, she stopped moving but didn’t let go. I could feel her eyes on where she held me in her hand, and I jerked when she moved down my length again, experimentally.

“No more,” I gasped, my voice tight.

“Sorry.” She slid the thumb of her free hand over where I’d come on her palm, rubbed it over her hip, eyes wide and fascinated. She was breathing so hard her chest jerked with the movement.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled.

“Was it . . . ?” The room seemed full with her unfinished question and the sound of my heavy breathing. I felt a little dizzy, and wanted to pull her down onto the floor with me and pass out.

“That was fucking unreal, Hanna.”

She looked up at me, almost triumphant with discovery. “I was right—you made the best noise when you came.”

The world dropped into an abyss when she said that, because here I was, growing soft in her hand, and all I wanted was to find out whether doing that to me had made her wet.

I bent forward and asked, “Is it my turn now?” into the soft skin of her neck.

With a trembling breath, she whispered, “Yes, please.”

“Do you want my hands?” I asked. “Or do you want something else?”

She let out a little nervous laugh. “I’m not really ready for more, but . . . I don’t think hands work on me.”

I leaned back enough to give her my most skeptical look, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans and just daring her to stop me.

She didn’t.

“I just mean I don’t know if I can get off with fingers, like, just inside,” she clarified.

“Well, of course you can’t get off just with fingers inside. Your
clit
isn’t inside.” I slid my hand beneath her cotton underwear
and froze at the sensation of soft, bare skin. “Uh, Hanna? I did not peg you as a waxer.”

She wiggled a little, embarrassed. “Chloe was talking about it. I was curious. . . .”

I slipped a finger between her lips—holy
fuck,
she was drenched. “Jesus Christ,” I groaned.

“I like it,” she admitted, her mouth pressed against my neck. “I like how it feels.”

“Are you fucking kidding? You’re so fucking soft; I want to lick up and down every part of this.”

“Will
 . . .”

“I’d have my mouth on you in two seconds if we weren’t in some random guy’s bedroom.”

She shivered under my touch, letting out a quiet moan. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined that.”

Holy hell.
I felt myself lengthen between us again, already. “I think you’d melt like sugar on my tongue. What do you think?”

She laughed a little, holding on to my shoulders. “I think I’m melting now.”

“I think you are. I think you’re going to melt all over my fucking hand and I’ll lick it off after. Are you loud, little Plum? When you come are you wild?”

A tiny choking sound escaped before she whispered, “By myself I’m not loud.”

Fuck
. That’s what I wanted to hear. I could build fantasies for a decade just thinking about Hanna, legs spread on
her couch or while she was lying in the middle of her bed, touching herself.

“By yourself, what do you do? Just the clit?”

“Yeah.”

“With a toy or . . . ?”

“Sometimes.”

“I bet I can make you come like this,” I said, and slid two fingers carefully inside, feeling her squeeze me. I brushed my nose against hers. “Tell me. Do you like my fingers here? Fucking you?”

“Will . . . you’re so
dirty
.”

I laughed, nibbling at her jaw. “I think you
like
dirty.”

“I think I’d like your dirty mouth between my legs,” she said softly.

I groaned, moved my hand faster and harder into her.

“Do
you
think about it?” she asked. “Kissing me there?”

“I have,” I admitted. “I think about it and wonder if I’d ever come up for air.”

So wet.
She was wiggling all over my hand, making these little desperate sounds I wanted to eat. I pulled my fingers out, ignoring her angry little growl, and with them painted a wet line up her chin and across her lips, following almost immediately with my tongue, covering her mouth with mine.

Fuuuck.

She tasted all woman, soft and heady, and her tongue was still sticky sweet from her girly drink. She tasted like
plum, ripe and soft and small in my mouth, and I felt like a fucking king when she begged me to touch her
more, again, please Will I was close.

Returning to her, I shoved her pants and underwear all the way down her legs, waiting as she stepped out of them. She was completely naked and my arms were shaking with the need to slide inside her perfect, warm heat.

She reached for my wrist, pulling my hand back between her legs.

“Greedy girl.”

Her eyes went wide, embarrassed. “I just—”

“Shh.” I quieted her with my mouth on hers, sucking on her lip and licking her sweet tongue. Pulling back, I whispered, “I like it. I want to make you explode.”

“I will.” She jerked in my hand when I slid my fingers between her legs and over her clit. “I’ve never felt this.”

“So wet.”

Her mouth opened in a sharp gasp when I slid my fingers back inside her. She stared at my lips, my eyes, my every reaction. I loved that she was so curious she couldn’t even look away.

“Do me a favor,” I asked. She nodded. “When you’re close, tell me. I’ll know, but give me the words.”

“I will,” she gasped. “I will, I will, just . . . please.”

“Please what, Plum?”

She weaved slightly against me. “Please don’t stop.”

I slid my fingers deeper, faster, pressing my thumb up against her clit and working it right there in tighter, smaller circles.
Yes. Holy shit, she’s so close.

I was hard again, rubbing over her bare hip where I’d already come on her only minutes ago, and close again myself.

“Grab my dick, okay? Just hold on. You’re so fucking wet and your sounds . . . holy fuck, I . . .”

And then she was there, holding on to me tight enough to fuck her fist, and every thought became about how smooth she was around my fingers and the fruit plumpness of her lips and tongue.

She started to dissolve, her body completely losing it. She was quietly gasping the same thing over and over—
Oh my God
—which I was thinking, too.

“Say it.”

“I’m going . . .” She hiccupped, tightened her hold on my length as I fucked her fist.

“Fucking
say it
.”

“Will. My God.” Her thighs started to shake and I wrapped my free arm around her waist to keep her from falling. “I’m coming.”

And with a wild jerk of her hips she did, shaking and wet. Her orgasm rippled along the lengths of my fingers as she cried out, digging her nails into my shoulders. It was exactly what I needed—
how did she fucking know
? With a low groan, I felt my second orgasm surge forward, hot and liquid into her hand.

Fuck.
My legs shook and I leaned into her, pinning her to the wall.

We’d been loud. Too loud? We were far down the hall, separated from the raging party by a number of rooms, but I still had no sense what the outside world had done while mine had melted in Hanna’s arms.

Her breath came out warm and sweet on my neck and I carefully pulled out my fingers, rubbing along her sex to relish in her warm, sensitive skin.

“Good?” I murmured into her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pressing her face into the crook of my neck. “
God,
so good.”

I left my hand where it was, my mind reeling as I gently ran my fingers up her clit, down back to her entrance and along the soft crease of her pussy. It was quite possibly the best first time I’d ever had with a girl.

And it had only been our hands.

“We should probably get back out to the party,” she said, her voice muffled by my skin.

Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away, and immediately winced as she turned on the light switch behind her back. As I pulled up my pants, I stared at her, completely naked in the bright room.

Well, fuck
. She was smooth and toned, with lush breasts and gently curved hips. Her skin was still flushed from her orgasm, and I relished the sight of the blush that spread up
her neck and across her cheeks as I studied the moisture on her stomach from my orgasm.

“You’re staring,” she said, bending to reach for a box of tissues on the dresser. She looked down, cleaning herself up and then tossing the tissue into a trash can.

I buckled my belt and then sat at the edge of the bed, watching her put her clothes back on. She was unbelievably sexy, and she had no fucking idea.

The room smelled like sex, and I knew she could feel my attention on her but she didn’t rush. In fact, she seemed perfectly content to let me look at every angle, every curve as she slid on her panties, shimmied into her pants, put her bra on, slowly buttoned her shirt.

Looking over at me, she licked her lips and my heart tripped as I registered she could taste herself from my fingers. I wondered if I’d be remembering her taste until the end of time.

“What now?” I asked, standing.

“Now”—she reached for my arm, tracing the double helix from my elbow to my wrist—“we go back out there and have another drink.”

My blood cooled a bit, hearing her voice return to steady. No longer breathy and excited, no longer tentative and hopeful. She was back to her regular bubbly self, the same Hanna everyone else saw. No longer mine.

“Works for me.”

She looked at my face for several long moments, at
my eyes and cheeks, chin and lips. “Thanks for not being weird.”

“Are you kidding?” I bent down and kissed her cheek. “What’s there to be weird about?”

“We just touched each other’s private parts,” she whispered.

I laughed, fixing the collar of her shirt. “I noticed that.”

“I think I could totally do the friends-with-benefits thing. It feels so easy, so relaxed. We’re just going to head back out there,” she said, grinning widely up at me. With a little wink, she added, “And we’re the only ones who know you just came all over my stomach and I just came all over your hand.”

She turned the knob, opened the door, and let in the roar of the party. No way would anyone have heard us. We could pretend it didn’t even happen.

I’d done this before, scores of times. Hooked up with a woman and then returned to the throes of a party, blending into the room and losing myself in another form of fun. But despite the genuinely nice crowd of people, I couldn’t ever lose track of where Hanna was and what she was doing. In the living room, talking to the tall Asian guy I remembered as Dylan. Heading down the hall, waving to me before ducking into the restroom. Filling her plastic cup with water in the kitchen. Looking over to me across the room.

Dylan found Hanna again, smiling as he bent and said something to her. He had a wide smile, clothes that suggested he got out enough to be on the cutting edge of grad student chic, and seemed genuinely fond of her. I watched her smile grow, and then turn a little unsure. She hugged him, and watched him head into the kitchen. I had no idea what was happening; I loved seeing her have a good time. But the itch for something else started to spread across my skin, and after two hours of partying post–hand job, I realized I wanted to take her home where we could feel each other for real for the remainder of the night.

I slid my phone from my pocket, typing a text to her.
Let’s get out of here. Come to my place tonight and stay with me.

I moved my thumb to the SEND button before I noticed that she was also typing in our iMessage window. I paused, waiting.