My dick hardens. I don’t have to look down to know my hard-on is trying everything possible to break through the fabric of my scrubs.
“Goddamn.” The words fall from my lips as she pumps her middle finger in and out of her pussy.
She must have heard my voice because her eyes fly open. A moan, which sounds more like a curse, falls out of her mouth.
“Don’t stop, Love,” I tell her when her fingers slow and the other hand she was using to rub her clit falls to the mattress. Seconds go by without any moment at all. “Please,” I beg her to start fucking herself again. To allow me to watch. Finally, her fingers slowly start pumping, picking up speed.
Her eyes stay locked on me as mine stay trained on her beautiful pussy. My pussy.
“Rub your clit,” I instruct, and she complies, running her other hand over her hip bone and down until she comes in contact with that sweet, sensitive spot. Her teeth clamp down on her lip, suppressing a moan.
Taking a step inside my bedroom, I close the door behind me without looking away. “Release your lip. I want to hear you.” I can’t stop myself. I take another step forward. And then another until I reach the foot.
“Mm.” Her moan is low and soft, but it strikes my ears, piercing them, making me feel her all the way down to my toes.
“That’s beautiful, Love. Pull your heels up to your thighs and open your legs wider.”
Another moan—this time louder slips through those red, full lips. Both of her hands are between her legs, causing her beautiful tits to push together and sit high on her chest.
“Fuck yourself harder.”
“I-I can’t.” She stutters as she tries to pick up speed but can’t keep the speed circling her clit.
“Move your hand from your clit, up to your breast, Love.” My knee meets the mattress as she moves her hand, running it up her torso until she palms her gorgeous tit, squeezing.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself under control. I’m quickly losing the battle, but I have to push on.
My hand comes down, meeting the soft material of the comforter. I fist my hand around the fabric, bending down as I do. When the intoxicating aroma of Whitney’s juices hits my nostrils, my tongue juts out, wetting my lips.
She still smells the same. Just the way I remember her. I could drown in her scent every day, and it wouldn’t be enough to sate me.
Some people’s vice is drugs or alcohol; mine was always Whitney. The sweetest, most powerful of anything in existence—and I want nothing more than to overdose on it right now.
But I won’t. Not yet anyway.
“I won’t touch,” I assure her, watching as goose bumps trail down her inner thigh from my breath fanning her leg. “I promise,” I swear to her, even though it’s taking all the strength inside me not to.
Lowering my head, I blow on her clit. “Oh, my fu . . .” A smile tugs the corner of my lips.
“Tou . . . touch me. Please, Shane.”
I lift my eyes to hers. “No. You’re almost there. You got this, Love.” Then my gaze drops to the most beautiful sight in the whole damn world. “Pull your fingers out; run your juices up to your clit and make slow circles, baby.”
She follows my command. Her glistening finger runs up the path of her slit connecting to the bundle of nerves that will set her free.
I blow a soft breeze over her fingers and clit, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from her lips. Her abdominal muscles contract as her ass lifts. I have to pull back so I don’t come in contact with her hand.
Voyeurism isn’t new to me. I used to love watching Whitney make herself come undone, and she got off on watching me watch her. Just like she’s doing now.
Only this time, I won’t be slamming myself home.
“Faster,” is all I say, and then I blow another stream of steady air. Seconds later she screams out her release, and it’s music to my ears.
She pants, sucking in and releasing air in rapid succession. I push off the bed, backing up to give her room. Her cheeks pink when her eyes open, meeting mine. And I smile.
Whitney moves off the bed and walks towards me—my smile falters. What is she doing? She just watches me, her face blank, not giving me any idea what she was thinking.
Was I wrong? Should I have not . . .
Her hand rises in a gesture I remember all too well. Her fingers, including the one still slick with her juices, run down my lips. My eyes close, savoring her touch. But when her hand starts to lower, I catch her wrist in my hand, pulling it back up. My lips tip on their own accord as my eyes flutter open.
“May I?” Without words, she bobs her head, granting me permission.
Pulling her wrist to my mouth, I close my lips around her middle finger. Her eyes dilate as sweetness coats my tongue, spreading a static-like sensation around my scalp as tingles flow over my shoulders and down my spine.
I don’t want to release her, but I do, pulling her finger from my lips.
“So beautiful.” Her cheeks turn pink again. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I thought that when I was a kid. I thought that when I made love to you the first time. I think that now.”
Tears pool in her eyes. She breathes in deep, schooling her emotions that threaten to spill down her cheeks.
Stepping back, she lowers her eyes, and then a sexy smirk forms on her lips as her eyes flick up to mine. “Your . . . scrubs are a little wet.”
Fucking thin pants and pre-cum. Nice.
I look down, surprised I didn’t blow my full load from what I just watched if truth be told. “Thank you, Love, for letting—”
“Momma,” Emersyn’s voice comes through the door, cutting me off. “I peed the bed . . .
Memories are never forgotten.
Or so it’s said, but she did. She forgot herself, me, and us. She forgot everything. One day I woke up and there was only pain. This pain is so fierce that I can’t overcome it alone. My heart was ripped from my chest and I’m surviving, but barely. Not even the physical outlet I seek to purge the torment of remembering the one I can’t let go helps anymore.
In all of his agony what if the worst of his pain has yet to be expelled; a secret that could have changed everything had he known.
Every day that I wake up I’m in a fog.
Before ten years ago I feel like I didn’t exist. Everything I ever knew had been erased. Some days I wish I had bad memories because even those are better than none at all. Instead, I feel like I’m a character in a storybook, merely acting a role. I don’t know why, but none of it feels real. That’s crazy, right? Still, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone is hiding something from me. Even the man that lies next to me at night sometimes feels like a stranger. I just want to feel like I belong in my own life.
Everything in her life feels borrowed, but that’s a secret better left unspoken.
More Than Memories is a standalone, but book two in the More Than series. MORE THAN LIES is now available.
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