Conspiring by J. B. McGee Page A

like this, and me stripping it off of you.”
    Our kisses are passionate, hurried, and intense. Our hands are furiously fondling each other. Suddenly the backs of my knees are on my mattress. It only takes a tap for him to flick me back onto my bed. I blush as I remember him so tenderly dressing me Sunday. We both had only been able to think about this scenario.
    Unlike the first time we were together, where he took his sweet time teasing me, building the anticipation, our time apart has been all the anticipation we need. The ache in me for him to fill me is becoming more than I can bear.
    He stops for a moment, drinking me in with his eyes, studying me up and down. “Do you know how badly I have wanted to rip your clothes off?”
    “What’s stopping you?”
    “You look so damn cute like this,” he says before he reaches for the waist band, and snatches my shorts away.
    “No bra last time, this time no panties. You are so sexy.”
    He kisses his way up my legs, to the insides of my thighs. I gasp as his tongue leaves a trail of fire on my sensitive skin. He reaches my folds, and his tongue flutters back and forth, up, down, and all around. My arousal is building with each touch. I buck off the bed. Just as my body starts to shudder, he stops.
    He unbuckles his belt, and slowly pulls it off. While he’s slowing the pace, my urgency hasn’t relented. I want him. I sit up, but he pushes me back down. “Just watch.”
    “I need you. Hurry up,” I beg.
    He picks my hand up and places it in between my legs. “Please yourself until I undress. Let me watch you.”
    As much as Bradley and I have done, he never asked me to touch myself. I’ve never done this before. Ian’s so different tonight than he was last time, but I like it. It’s just what I needed. I’m drunk on him, just the way I wanted to be.
    I start to move my fingers around my soaked opening.
    Ian’s watching, smiling, “Ah, yes. You’re so wet. See, that turns you on so much.”
    I watch as he lets his shorts drop to the floor. He shimmies out of his boxers, grabbing his length, caressing it. “Ian, I want you.”
    “You’re about to have me, baby.”
    He pulls my legs towards him, and flips me so that I’m on my stomach. He holds my legs at his hips and rams into me from behind. “You said maybe when I asked if you liked it rough.”
    He sinks deeper. “Do you like this?”
    “Ah,” I moan.
    “Tell me. Do you like it? I want to hear you,” he commands as he pounds into me again.
    “Yes. Faster,” I demand.
    “Tell me. What took you so long to call me?”
    “I don’t know.” I can’t tell him the real reason as to why it took me so long. I just want him to speed up. I don’t want to talk.
    “I’m going to take this slow, torture you the way you’ve tortured me since Sunday.”
    That pisses me off. “I was sick,” I hiss.
    “You could have called and told me you were okay.” He barely moves, teasing me.
    “I told you I didn’t want anything more when I got out of your car.”
    “Then why am I here?”
    “Because I wanted you back inside of me. Besides, why didn’t you call me? It works both ways.”
    He pulls out. Dammit. “Because I wanted to hear you say you wanted me.”
    “Fine, I want you. Back in. Now.”
    “Ask nicely,” he chuckles.
    “Please, Ian. I want you back inside of me.”
    Swiftly he plows back into me, filling me as cry out because every move he makes consumes me. He sets a hurried rhythm. The pleasure is building inside of me. Every grunt he makes as he ravages me sends me farther over the edge until my body is erupting like a volcano, convulsing and quaking.
    “Yeah, that’s it,” he growls as I feel him follow.
    He flips me back over and chastely kisses my lips. “Next time, don’t take so long to call me back.” His eyes never leave mine as he puts his clothes back on. I’m yearning for more when he walks out of my room. He hollers over his shoulder, “That should have helped your appetite.