August
The levels upon which this is wrong are too vast to even count. But it’s almost two in the morning and I’m completely unsettled, so sleep is eluding me.
I’d tossed and turned in my bed, knowing exactly what I needed to quiet me, but refusing to act on it.
And yet, here I now am, standing in Leighton’s bedroom like a fucking creeper. I managed to open her door without even creating the slightest of sounds, grateful for the thick carpeting that muffled my steps, and slipped it closed just as quietly.
A small amount of moonglow comes through the shades of the window, but it still takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Little by little, I can make her out in the middle of the queen bed I’d furnished this room with. It’s nothing fancy—part of a three-piece set I bought at some outlet-type furniture store when I first bought this house four years ago. Just a headboard bolted to a frame and a desert-motif comforter set I’d bought online. I wonder if it even appeals to Leighton, or does she hate the bland decor of this room with its beiges and creams because color obviously seemed to offend my manly sensibilities when it came to decorating this house.
Moving to the end of the bed, I look down. I don’t know what she sleeps in as any time I happen to run into her in the kitchen in the mornings, she always has her bathrobe on over her sleep outfit. I can make out a tank top, the thin spaghetti straps showing against her skin. The covers are pulled to her waist, and she’s laying on her back. I actually knew she was a back sleeper as I’d stayed at her house on a few occasions when we were dating when her dad was away on “business”. My parents always thought I was staying at a buddy’s house, but I’d go straight to Leighton’s—funny how I don’t even think of her as Tracey anymore—and we’d play at being grown-ups. She’d cook dinner for us, then we’d clean the kitchen together. We’d sometimes watch TV, then we’d fool around. It always ended with me carrying her to her room where we’d make love the only way two teenagers knew how to do—fumbling hands, fast breath, and quick finishes.
That was okay… at that age, we could go three or four times a night.
My lips curl up in a private smile as I realize… we managed to pull off three times in one night at The Wicked Horse last week. Guess some things don’t belong only to the youthful.
Bending slightly, I grip onto the covers and start to tug them off her. Incrementally, her body is revealed to me and I have to say, the tiny panties she wears with the tank are sexy as fuck.
Leighton’s chest rises and falls deeply, indicating she’s pretty far under the spell of sleep. She has one leg extended, the other cocked at an angle. Her head is turned, one arm thrown over her pillow, the other resting gently on her stomach.
One night at The Wicked Horse, I’d noticed she has the faintest white lines running vertically across her belly, and it took me a moment to realize they were stretch marks. In all my years of fucking—with all variety of women—I’d never seen them before. Didn’t mean they weren’t there, but, in all honesty, I’ve never paid attention to the minute details of a woman’s body before. Not the way I do with Leighton.
I’ll never admit it to Leighton, but fuck if seeing those lines didn’t turn me on. My cock was already hard as we’d been heavy into foreplay, but it seemed to swell to epic proportions and started aching when I understood what those lines were. To me, they were like her battle scars for making it through pregnancy and childbirth—alone and without me—and it was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.
Again, it made me ten times hornier than I already was, so I fucked her brains out after that. She said something silly after we were done like, “I don’t know what got into you, but I like it.”
What I should have said—if I were being honest—was, “You got into me, woman—into my fucking head—and it’s affecting me.”
But I didn’t. I just kissed her to shut her up.
I realize something now as I survey her.
I’m hard. My cock pressed against the zipper of the jeans I’d slid on when I left the bed, intent on coming in here and having my way with Leighton.
Just looking at her.
Thinking about her.
It’s all it takes.
I drag the zipper down and push my jeans off, kicking them free with my feet. My cock juts out, wanting nothing more than to be deep inside Leighton’s body.
But there’s something else I’m going to do first.
Pressing my legs to the end of the mattress, I lean forward and slip my hands into the edge of her panties. This will hopefully wake her up.
I tug at the material, which is stretchy and pliable. With a bit of persistence, I get them over her hips and ass. From there on, they silkily slide right down her legs until they come free of her feet. I drop them on the mattress beside her body. Leighton gives an annoyed groan, her head turning on her pillow and her left leg shifting so the opposite one is now extended and cocked.
Which isn’t exactly making things easy for me.
Gently, I take her ankles in my grip and slowly spread her legs apart. I push her feet up a little until her knees bend, which bares her pussy to me.
I bring my fingertips to her mound, then brush them through the trimmed hair. Eventually moving just my fingertip through the slit, I skim over her sensitive flesh. Her clit is hidden inside, unaware and sleeping. Leighton doesn’t move a muscle, her breathing remaining deep.
Perfect.
I slowly crawl onto the bottom of the bed, press my torso into the mattress, and slide my arms under her legs, curling them over her hips until my hands hover over her pussy. My fingers press against her lips, and I open her up so everything is exposed. Gently—ever so softly—I bring my face closer to touch the tip of my tongue to her clit where it’s nestled in deep and soft.
I press a bit harder, feel the resistance of it, and start to circle my tongue around it. Looking up Leighton’s body, I lightly lap at her. There’s a slight frown on her face, but she’s still sleeping.
My goal was never to have her stay sleep, because I want her awake and enjoying this. But I am curious as to what will bring her to consciousness.
Adjusting my arms, I press a finger deep into her while continuing to gently lave her clit. A peek up at Leighton shows her head has turned on the pillow again, her breathing a bit faster.
Awesome.
I push two fingers into her and start to pump them in and out, alternating my licks with gentle sucking.
That combination proves to be too much for deep sleep. Leighton’s hips start to circle. She moans deep in her chest before murmuring, “August?”
A question.
Is that me making her feel so good in her dreams?
I deepen the pressure from both my fingers and tongue, driving knuckle-deep into her. My goal is focused, and I want to wake her up in the middle of an orgasm.
Instead, Leighton calls, “Oh, God… August… please make me come.”
And it’s loud.
Really damn loud.
Without thinking, I surge up her body, bringing my weight down on top of her and clamp my hand over her mouth. I can see in the moonlight her eyes are wide open and fevered, her hips writhing against me since I just left her hanging on the edge of release.
“Shh,” I murmur gently. “Sam’s sleeping just next door. We don’t want to wake him, do we?”
She shakes her head, those god damn hips still circling against my cock, which is pressed between her legs. I can feel the heat and wetness against my length, and I hiss from the pleasure of it.
I remove my hand from her mouth, reach down between us, and take my cock under control with it. Guiding it by instinct and feeling, I feel Leighton’s legs spreading wider to accommodate me. When I find the softest, wettest, hottest part—knowing I’m exactly in the right spot—I plunge deep into her.
My eyes practically roll into the back of my head because it feels so good. To my dismay, Leighton cries out and bucks against me.
Laughing, I nab the pair of panties I’d discarded beside her body and shove them into her mouth. She grunts with surprise but then groans against the silky material as I start to move inside her. Luckily, the bed is solid and bolted firmly, the mattress high quality. It lets me thrust into her deeply without creating a creak or a groan from the frame.
The panties were a clever idea as Leighton continues to make noises against them. Although I’m sure I could have persuaded her to be quiet, I find it sexy as fuck she’s essentially gagged so I can do my worst.
Might as well get her worked up, so I start to talk dirty to her while I fuck her. Her legs spread wider, wrap around my hips, and her heels dig into my ass.
I bend my head, hovering my face right over hers. Not so I can kiss her, because her mouth is full, but so I can just stare at her. So I can try to read all the variance of emotions within those stunning orbs.
How much she loves the way I make her feel? How frustrated she is I haven’t let her come yet? I even try to discern how much of that emotion warring within her expression is tenderness for me.
After all, she’s never moved past me.
As I thrust within the perfectness of her body, taking into consideration how right all of this feels, I have to wonder how far I’ve actually moved past her.
Bending to touch my forehead to hers, I ask, “Ready to come?”
She nods, moaning against the panties.
“Not quite yet,” I murmur, slowing my thrusts down.
I get the cutest little kitteny growl from her. When I pull my head away, her eyes are flashing with the promise of retribution.
Oh, bring it on, sweet girl.
There’s nothing I’d love more for her to do than to sexually torture me by teasing out an orgasm.
Maybe we’ll save that for tomorrow night.