"Most nights," she admits, shameless now that they find their way to her bed on occasion. "It often leads to more frustration. I can't reach as deep, nor fill myself quite like you do."
She can get herself off, but it's not the same. All she ever craves is him.
"Your fingers are narrow and delicate," he says. He thinks about it every time she has to wrap both hands around his cock to jerk him off. "Mine aren't."
He kisses his way between her cleavage, and he could take her hand to compare to his, but instead he withdraws just enough to run his hand down her front. He rests the heel of his hand against her groin. His fingers reach all the way to her navel. See?
"Far from it," he agrees, gaze roving up to her face again. The baser part of him jumps at the idea of her needing him so badly that her own hands won't do, but reason has never liked feeling used. The look in his eyes is heated anyway; they're in a place where they can do whatever they want. "Let us make some memories, then."
"All this talk has me moments away from touching myself if you won't," she teases. "We are spoiled for choice."
Some people are enjoying themselves on the benches, the the edges of the pool, some in the pool. Jill can only manage a quick glance before looking back to Clive, afraid her blush might make him change his mind about all this.
He feels the intense temptation to ask her to, just to watch, but in front of an audience he's not so sure she'd manage, especially given how rarely they've indulged in that kind of play even in the privacy of their home. His hands continue to rove over her. It doesn't matter. He just wants her, as soon as possible.
"What if I told you not to use your hands?" She asks with a mischievous little laugh, half serious. She's bound his hands before, and while he'd easily be able to free himself, it did keep him obedient. Here, they have nothing on hand--and likely nothing by the pool that would prohibit swimming. No need for that sort of problem here.
"The rest is up to you."
A game would keep her distracted from the fact that there are others around them.
That's easy to take seriously anyway. He kisses her chest again, briefly grazing his teeth over the soft skin of one breast before looking up at her again.
"Then I'll devour you," he says, then kissing further down. "Lay you out on your back, and pleasure you with my mouth. And if my hands stray..."
"No need," he says. Even if he ends up in there, he's going to hate it regardless of the temperature. He shifts with her, not quite touching her, just in case the rules have started already, right to his knees.
She feels more exposed, standing by her lonesome before sitting back down. And even then, she can see much more than before--and Clive's body isn't blocking her. Still, she returns her focus to him.
"Will here suit you? I suppose you'll have to tell me where exactly you want me."
"Here's fine, unless you'd rather find a room," he says, sitting back on his heels. Multiple people are glancing their way –– he can feel it on his skin.
Jill swallows before daring to lift her eyes from Clive. People are looking, but only when not preoccupied with their partner. Or partners, in some cases. She looks back to Clive.
"If you'd be more comfortable in a room, we'll find a room," she says. "Everyone nearby will hear how good you are to me."
She makes a mental note to not sound like that girl from the porno.
Following his gaze, she opens her legs wider for him before reaching down to spread her lips for him. Despite her nerves, she's been wet for him since the locker room, anticipation slowly reaching frustrating levels.
He's desperate to smother himself in her, but he still needs a moment to look, to admire the flush of her skin and the swollen, wet pink of her cunt, knowing exactly what it tastes like and that he's about to have more. He breathes in deeply, putting his hands on his thighs, safely out of reach of touching her. She's so fucking beautiful.
He presses his face to her, nosing his way against her and starting to lap at her, slow and savouring.
Carefully, she hooks a leg over his shoulder. Easier for them both. She slides her fingers through his hair, biting back a moan as she risks a glance over Clive's head between her legs--less eyes on her than she feared, but the ones that land on them are appraising. It stirs a little spark in her gut.
"You'd think you'd never had me before," she tells him. He always gives his best.
The rest of the world mutes, even though he never quite forgets that there's eyes on them –– he doesn't want them to. He wants them to see him treating her well, being a worthy lover. He wants them to see how pleased she is.
He doesn't have an answer for her beyond a soft groan against her, something satisfied, or approaching it. A quickening of his pace, hungry.
Clive isn’t sure he could suck at her clit harder, his tongue a steady pressure as he does. His fingers curl against his thighs and on second thought move to hold the edge of the bench, backs of his fingers inches from the underside of her thighs. He will follow orders.
And then she speaks. Founder, are they? Do they wish they were in her place, in his? They don’t get to be. Clive makes a sound approaching a whimper, knuckles white as he grips the bench.
Jill keeps her focus on the contrast between her pale fingers and his dark hair, gripping as gently as she can, and resisting the desire to just smother him between her thighs. When she moans his name, it's loud enough for those closest to hear.
She spares a hand from his hair to cover his hand, holding. Terrible rule, the no touching. She finds herself aching for his hands on her, and the little groan of desperation might be an indication of such.
He knows she wants more. He’s not sure how much he can give her, eating her enthusiastically as he is, without reaching up inside her and fucking her with his fingers, stroking her from the inside. Just the thought makes him want to, and when she reaches for his hand, he thinks she might want him to.
“The pool,” he manages, between breaths, “would be worth it.”
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She can get herself off, but it's not the same. All she ever craves is him.
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He kisses his way between her cleavage, and he could take her hand to compare to his, but instead he withdraws just enough to run his hand down her front. He rests the heel of his hand against her groin. His fingers reach all the way to her navel. See?
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"Nor is your cock," she adds with a soft laugh, though that's a given.
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Some people are enjoying themselves on the benches, the the edges of the pool, some in the pool. Jill can only manage a quick glance before looking back to Clive, afraid her blush might make him change his mind about all this.
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"Tell me how you'd have me touch you."
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"The rest is up to you."
A game would keep her distracted from the fact that there are others around them.
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"Then I'll devour you," he says, then kissing further down. "Lay you out on your back, and pleasure you with my mouth. And if my hands stray..."
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She laughs. It's right there.
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"It's a deal."
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Not when she begs. Jill presses a kiss to his forehead before moving to step out from between his knees.
"Shall I test the heat of the water for you?"
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"Will here suit you? I suppose you'll have to tell me where exactly you want me."
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"If you'd be more comfortable in a room, we'll find a room," she says. "Everyone nearby will hear how good you are to me."
She makes a mental note to not sound like that girl from the porno.
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Following his gaze, she opens her legs wider for him before reaching down to spread her lips for him. Despite her nerves, she's been wet for him since the locker room, anticipation slowly reaching frustrating levels.
"Do as you please, then. Just no touching."
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He presses his face to her, nosing his way against her and starting to lap at her, slow and savouring.
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"You'd think you'd never had me before," she tells him. He always gives his best.
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He doesn't have an answer for her beyond a soft groan against her, something satisfied, or approaching it. A quickening of his pace, hungry.
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Some part of him must like the thrill.
She thinks some part of her does, too.
"They're watching you," she says, voice low so that only he can hear, breathing shallow. "Probably imagining how good your tongue is."
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And then she speaks. Founder, are they? Do they wish they were in her place, in his? They don’t get to be. Clive makes a sound approaching a whimper, knuckles white as he grips the bench.
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She spares a hand from his hair to cover his hand, holding. Terrible rule, the no touching. She finds herself aching for his hands on her, and the little groan of desperation might be an indication of such.
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“The pool,” he manages, between breaths, “would be worth it.”
To touch her. To make her come on his fingers.
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"You could touch me while in the pool, I'm sure."
And have some privacy while in plain sight.
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