“Careful,” he panted. “I swore I’d be still while you kissed me. At no point did I promise to exercise restraint if you climbed up into my lap and started grinding yourself against my cock.” I hadn’t—I wasn’t— Fuck. I had. I was. Without even realizing, I’d straddled him. My legs were wrapped low around his waist. His cock was rock hard, trapped between our bodies. I could feel it there, rubbing up against me, applying the most delicious pressure whenever I shifted my weight. Not. Fucking. Happening.
