M Leighton: Wild Child

Heat pours into my core and my body throbs for him to kiss me lower. Then lower still. But he doesn’t. With his face so close I can feel his breath, Rusty pulls my shorts down my legs then follows them with my panties.

When I’m standing before him, wearing nothing but my shoes and a passion for him that never seems to die, he looks up at me. For a few seconds, I think it’s over. The game is over. He’s going to kiss me and I’m going to let him. But he doesn’t. Instead, Rusty stands slowly to his feet and says, “Your turn.”

I kick off my shoes, take a deep breath and curl my fingers in the hem of Rusty’s shirt. I pull it up, letting my hands touch his hard, smooth skin as I go. I can feel every ripple of his abdomen, every hard bulge of his pecs, but I don’t give in to my urge to press my lips to them.

I stretch up on my tiptoes to tug his shirt over his head. He’s taller than me, so I have to sway slightly toward him to reach high enough. My breasts graze his chest and I gasp. I can’t help it. The sensation of his skin touching my nipples flashes through me like a bolt of lightning, hot and electric.

“Jen-na,” he warns gruffly.

“Sorry,” I pant. I throw his shirt to the side and drop to my knees in front of him. I reach for the button of his jeans. I pause with my fingers tucked just inside his waistband and I look up at him. His face is set in stone and his jaw is clenched. I know this is hard for him. And when I let my eyes travel down, I can see the enormous bulge that assures me just how hard it is for him. Impulsively, I lean forward and press my lips to it. I hear him moan and his fingers wind into my hair, holding me to him for a few seconds before he tugs my head away.

“You’d better hurry it up or this is all over with,” he says hoarsely.

I grin up at him. “Can’t handle it?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but stops, clamping his teeth shut with a click. He watches me for a bit before his lips curve into a smile. “We’ll see who can handle what,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Continue.”

He’s steeling himself against wanting me, which makes me want to tease him that much more. I want to break him. I want him to give in because he just can’t stand it. I want him to forsake all else for me, for the want of me, for the love of me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from Rusty—his devotion. The same kind of devotion I have for him.

With determination, I smile up at him and unbutton his jeans. I reach for the zipper and ease it down over his erection. I ignore the pulsing between my legs. This is about Rusty.

I run my hands around his waist and slide them down over his butt, pushing down his jeans as I stroke the backs of his thighs, letting my chin graze his belly as I look back up at him.

With glittering eyes, Rusty watches me. I feel him shift as he kicks off his shoes and steps out of the jeans now pooled at his feet. And then he waits. Waits for me to finish.

I trail my fingers up the outsides of his legs and tease the bottom of his boxer briefs, running my fingers up high enough that I can feel the crease where his thighs meet his hips. I see him twitch behind the white cotton.

Bringing out my hands, I reach up to grasp the elastic band of his underwear and I tug, carefully freeing his shaft before I drag them down his legs. When he steps out of them, I hold onto his thighs as I rise. As my mouth passes his hard length, I stick out my tongue and drag it along the thick vein that runs from base to tip.

I hear him growl and I smile as I straighten in front of him. “Ready?”

“To skinny dip with the devil? Sure,” he replies, a slow grin coming to his face.

With speed a striking snake would envy, Rusty bends and throws me over his shoulder. I squeal in surprised delight as he takes off running toward the water and jumps off the bank, plunging us both into the cool, black pond.

It’s been hours and I still can’t sleep. Cami and Jenna had asked that I stay with Trick during this forced period of celibacy. I think each of us is supposed to watch the other, making sure no one cheats by paying any late-night visits. And it’s probably a good idea, because if there was ever a night I’d be likely to climb a tree to try and get to Jenna through Cami’s window, tonight would undoubtedly be it.

Just the thought of hearing Jenna laugh as we played in the water, just the memory of her playfully wrapping her arms and legs around me and pressing her cool lips to mine, just the knowledge that her tight, hot body was within centimeters of my granite-hard cock—well, it’s enough to keep a man up at night.

With a growl, I throw back the covers and stomp through the living room and into the kitchen. I have to laugh when I find Trick sitting at the island, in the dark, nursing a beer.

“What the hell, man?” he says when I turn on the light.

“If we ain’t sleeping, we’re drinking. Now go get your stash of beer from downstairs. We’re gonna need a lot more than what’s in the fridge. We’ve got some hot blood to cool.”

“This is gonna be a long week, isn’t it?”

“Hell yeah, it is!”

We both sigh and Trick gets up to go downstairs. I walk to the fridge and take out the rest of the cold beer in there to make room for more. I figure we’ll have these downed in less than an hour.

I shake my head as I think again of Jenna. I don’t know what that girl’s trying to do to me, but if it includes death from over-excitement, she’s well on her way.

It’s after lunch and Rusty is on my mind even more than usual, which is always a lot. This whole look-but-don’t-touch (or at least don’t touch anything too much) is eating me up. But in a really good way. For whatever reason, I almost feel closer to Rusty, like we’re sharing a private joke. I guess we are, actually. A private joke that’s like the ultimate foreplay. And neither of us knows how much we can take before we give in.

But wading through every sweetly torturous moment is half the fun.

“So they are meeting us there, right?” I ask Cami, who’s sitting in the passenger seat of my car, fiddling with her phone.

“Yes. For the millionth time yes! They’re supposed to be there by 1:30.”

“Okay,” I say with a smile. Cami’s turns her attention right back to her phone and types something out furiously. “Just what the hell are you doing?”

Cami’s head jerks up and she glances guiltily at me, shielding her cell phone against her chest. “Nothing. Why?”

I gasp. “You’re sexting!”

“Am not.”

“Are, too! You are a dirty little sexter! Don’t even bother to hide it. Your cheeks are blood red and your pupils are huge!”

Cami grins. “Are they really?”

“Ohmigod, you two are horrible!”

“You say that like you don’t do it.”

“I haven’t texted Rusty one naughty thing since you told me what we were doing with this no sex thing.”

“Really? I’m impressed.”

“You should be, you cock-blocking gutter snipe!”

“Cock-blocking gutter snipe?” she laughs.

I giggle. “I don’t know where in blue blazes that came from. See what a lack of sex does to me?”

“I figured you’d have caved already. You’re not the celibate type.”

“Neither are you. At least not where Trick’s concerned.”

She smiles wider. “He does make it awfully hard to do without.”

My sigh is wistful, as thoughts of Rusty’s talented…parts come to mind. “Gotta love a man with magic in his pants.”

At 1:22, Cami and I are pulling into the parking lot outside the Crazy Clown Costume Shoppe in Summerton. It’s the nearest more-than-one-horse city to our hometown of Greenfield, South Carolina. We get out and walk to the door, both of us stopping to stare at the cardboard cut-out standing on the sidewalk like a proud, bipolar sentry at the shop entrance.