High by LP Lovell

laughs as he swipes his tongue over my clit and, holy shit, his tongue is magic. My fingers grip his hair as my hips roll shamelessly, fucking his face. I watch him fuck me with his mouth, and the view alone has me hurtling full speed towards an orgasm.
    “Oh, shit!” I moan as my body tightens and waves of pleasure ripple through my core. He stands up and he’s frantically stroking himself, fisting his cock hard enough that his forearm is roped in veins.
    His abs tense and flex with each heavy breath, the muscles in his thighs tightening. He throws his free hand out, bracing it against the wall next to my head. I can feel his ragged breaths on my lips as he groans, his eyes slamming shut as the corded muscles of his neck pop out. He comes, and I feel it hit my stomach before it’s washed away.
    He hangs his head, resting it on my shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. I brush the hair off his forehead, and he lifts his face, his golden gaze crashing into mine.
    I don’t do this. Whatever this is, but he makes me want it.

    “I’m starving!” I whine, hanging my head back off the edge of the bed.
    Rhett’s feet come into view and I roll onto my front, watching as he fastens a cuff link. “I’ll feed you and take you home, but I have to make a stop on the way.”
    “What kind of stop?”
    “I have to go and see a building, and seeing as you’ve made me late…”
    I laugh. “Oh yeah, uh huh. I distinctly remember tying you up and forcing you to fuck me.”
    He grabs my hair and yanks until I flop onto my back, and then he gives me a Spiderman kiss, nipping my lip before he pulls away. “You got your tits out. It’s the same thing.”
    Damn butterflies.

    Breakfast turns out to be a muffin and a coffee from the coffee shop because, you know, I made him late.
    I sit in the front of his car, skipping through radio stations and trying to find a good song. He taps his finger on the steering wheel and I smile to myself because I know I’m pissing him off. Eventually, I get some Taylor Swift and stop, turning it up.
    He puts up with it for about three seconds before he turns it off.
    “Do you know how long it took me to find a good song?” I ask.
    He turns a blank stare on me. “Yes. I’m fucking aware of the hundred fucking radio stations you skipped through to find that shit.”
    “Hey, I like Taylor. She’s my girl crush.”
    He glances at me. “Really? Of all the hot women out there, you choose the girl next door wannabe?”
    “Hey, crushes are not open to judgment. But now we’re here…who would your guy crush be?” I smile, biting down on my bottom lip.
    “I like girls.” He says flatly, making me grin.
    “Uh-huh, but you have to have male appreciation. If a guy doesn’t have male appreciation, then I assume he has gay tendencies, because he’s clearly not at ease with his sexuality.”
    He focuses on the windscreen, even though we’re not moving. “Nice try.”
    “Damn, and I so thought it was going to be Tom Hardy. That would have been a lifetime’s worth of spank bank material.”
    He turns and looks at me, a frown on his face. “I worry about you.”
    I laugh. “Oh, don’t be grumpy just because I fantasized about Tom Hardy ploughing you.” I didn’t, it would totally be Rhett ploughing Tom, but eh, semantics.
    He presses a button on the radio, and cranks it up until hard core rock blares around the car, drowning out my laughter.
    The car inches forward through the traffic, and I find myself studying Rhett, because yes, I’m a pervert. He releases his seat belt and leans forward, shrugging out of his jacket. You know the Diet Coke adverts, where they slow motion a hot guy getting all sprayed with Coke and then taking his shirt off, abs glistening, birds singing, a fucking choir in the background…Well, that’s kind of what’s happening in my mind as he takes his jacket off and the muscles of his arms strain against his shirt. He puts a pair of Ray Ban’s on and drags a hand