Wanderlust part 29 "Is there a better time, Snowflake?"

Good morning, good morning, all. Welp, we've hit over 38K as of last night. I sat and wrote another installment before bed. So, we're totally trucking along in this book (pun totally intended).

I have coffee and later today I'll have good news to post. For now--enjoy!

And welcome to new readers. Thanks for your comments and contact! Glad to have you. :)

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 29
by Sommer Marsden

I didn't think we'd be going anywhere. The day had skated away in a chaotic rush of emotions and confessions. I didn't think we'd hit the road at all until the following day. But I woke to whispery secretive sounds just past midnight according to the alarm clock.

Normally a night owl, I rarely fell asleep so early. I also rarely set off human powder kegs or incited two-person riots, either.

There was that sound again. My mind knew the sound but couldn't pluck it out of the ether and name it. I was tired and a bit chilly and a little scared still from earlier. Wind licked around the eaves, sounding lonely and forlorn. Somewhere down below I heard the ticks and pops of wood planks settling as they cooled after being warm all day. The cabin was hunkering down for the night.

Finally, I opened one eye and from the meager glow. Johnny had left a small lamp burning down below—to keep the likes of me from falling down the steps, no doubt. I saw him watching me. Cock in hand, face serene if not serious, jerking off.

I blinked, startled and aroused all in one heartbeat. "Can I help you with something?" I tried to make a joke out of it. But it didn't feel like a joke. The air was charged with an surreal energy.

There was no hurry in his motion. It was a lazy kind of masturbation, like it has just occurred to him and he'd decided on a whim to give in. I grinned and reached for him.

He surprised me further by pushing my hand away. A small splinter of hurt wedged itself under my skin. "Johnny—"

"I said no," he reminded me. He looked down at himself, running his thumb over the tip of his cock. My favorite part of it—the smooth cap of flesh with the small indentation. That diminutive slit in the helmet that I liked to press the tip of my tongue to.

To see him there—handling himself—getting off—made my stomach cramp with nervous lust. "Why?" I breathed. Wanting him even more. Needing him even more.

What a mind fuck. And that, I realized, was the point.

"Because," he said. His hand moved up and then down. Up and down. Slow and sultry. His skin rasping along his shaft.

I watched him, mesmerized several times over. By the no, by the sound, by the sight. "Please?"

"No." He did give me a half grin and it plunged through me with ease.

I was so fucking wet. I wanted him so bad always. I wanted him more when I saw him touching himself. I wanted him insanely because he was telling me no. My body let loose a rush of fluid and my pussy clamped greedily around nothing but the idea of having him in me.

"I don't know why. Why no?" I whispered.

"I want to watch you."

"You can watch me and then fuck me."

"You can watch me and I can watch you. And then soon enough I'll fuck you."

"Soon enough?"

"Soon enough." He held his cock tight, slid his hand down slowly, grasped himself at the root and watched me.

His eyes were my impetus. I threw the covers back and pushed my tee high. Shimmying my hips, I pulled my panties down, holding my breath—praying that seeing me do this would cause him to say fuck it and just enter me, already.

Mount me.

Why did that word turn me on? Mount me. Fuck me. Take me. All of this swirled and danced in my tired still-awakening brain as I yanked my panties down.

Johnny kicked them to the floor and handled his balls, rubbing that thumb over the tip of his cock again.

I remembered the silken feel of him. The impossibly soft skin that sheathed that impossibly hard erection. And he wouldn't let me have it.

I sighed and wriggled. I tried to tempt him. He said, gruffly, "Spread yourself open, Snowflake. Let me see how pretty you are."

That brought heat to my face and my pussy. I was flushed red and rosy from head to toe and again, I coddled my irrational anger over the fact that he wouldn't bend his rule and take me. It had been hours. Hours seemed too long to not be with Johnny Rose.

I spread myself for him and he watched me, his motions just a bit more urgent. I spread my pussy wide and started to rub. I arched my hips, hoping the golden buttery glow of light that stained the darkness would play across the moisture between my legs. Hoped it would accent my ache for him and my readiness to receive.

If he could see how fucking wet I was for him, maybe he would fuck me. I curled my toes against his bicep and I rubbed my clit. We faced each other. Him propped on an elbow at the foot of the bed, his feet facing me. Me with my hair spread out on the pile of pillows, touching my toe to his warm skin.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Really," he said. And then he smiled.

I believed him. But a girl had to try.

"Put your fingers in your cunt," he said. His voice was a whispered prayer in the silence.

I pushed one finger in slowly, watching him as he studied me. His fist squeezed the length of his cock and his hips moved a bit. His jaw clenched and his eyes flashed dark and indecipherable in the gloom.

"Now another."

I added another and moved my hips up a touch more. My fingers slipped slick circles around my clitoris, my thumb keeping the hood pulled back so that the force of my ministrations filled my pelvis with heat. I thrust my fingers, letting him heard the wet sliding sound as I fucked myself for his approval and amusement.

"Good girl," he said.

That first flicker and blush of orgasm sidled up to me and I made a soft noise.

He heard it and chuckled. I curled my toes against him harder and he said "Now curl those fingers of yours. Deep inside. Curl against that spot that makes you shake when you come," he said.

I did it. I curled my fingers, brushing that tender bundle of nerves and it all crashed down around me. The sight of him stroking his cock, the sound of us masturbating that filled the loft, the words good girl and the orders and the way he licked his lips when I started to come.

It all washed over me and I stretched my legs long as I came, my body flickering inside and out from the force of my release.

"Watch me," he managed. His voice had gone broken glass and barbed wire gruff.

I focused my eyes even as little flickers continued to spasm through me. I watched him as my body undulated with the remnants of need and a craving for more. Johnny pumped one-two-three times hard and fast and he came. A thick white jet of come arching out of him, hitting my skin like liquid fire. I watched and felt another smaller orgasm rush through me because my fingers were still buried deep inside my pussy.

"Come clean me up," he said.

I felt one instant of shock and then I willingly crawled to the end of the bed and licked his hand. I sucked each finger like it was my last chance to touch him, licking the salty astringent taste off the back of his hand. When I was done—when he was clean—he caught my hair up in his hand and reeled me in. He gathered me to him and kissed me. His big hands captured my face and he kissed me harder, tasting himself on my lips, on my tongue.

"Now get dressed."

"What?"

"Get dressed." He brushed his lips over my forehead as he pushed the hair out of my face.

"Why?"

"We're leaving. Ohio, here we come."

"Now?"

"Is there a better time, Snowflake?"

"I guess not."

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