Chapter 113
Lily’s POV
Crew’s gaze burns into me, his presence a fire that both terrifies and consumes me. My body trembles, covered only in sheer pink lingerie, the red lace barely concealing my nipples, my pubic hair visible through the panties—a bold choice that makes me feel exposed, alive, desired.
His eyes, dark with hunger, lock onto me, and I’m caught, my heart racing, my panties already wet from the way he looks at me, like I’m his to unravel. I’m not used to this—being the center of someone’s world, risking everything to be here, defying my abusive father’s threats for this weekend with Crew.
But his love, his touch, the memory of him fucking me with a Blow Pop, my orgasm his to claim, makes me brave, makes me want to give him everything.
He grabs my ass, lifting me effortlessly, and tosses me onto the king bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me. I brace myself, knees bent, heart pounding, and meet his gaze, his eyes fixed only on me. I shift, clamping my thighs together, then slowly part them, a daring move that sends a thrill through me. His stare drops to the wet spot between my legs, his eyes darkening, and my panties grow slicker, my arousal a pulsing ache under his watch.
“You’re a bad girl,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, a caress that ignites me. “I knew I could bring it out in you.”
I spread my legs wider, feet planted, my body open, vulnerable. “You like it?” I ask, my voice trembling with need, boldness I didn’t know I had.
“I fucking love it,” he growls, his gaze searing. “Slip your hand in your panties.”
Shock jolts me, my breath catching. “Really?” I squeak, my cheeks burning, but his nod is firm, his eyes commanding.
“Show me what you like,” he says, and I hesitate, my mind reeling. “I can see you—the fabric is clear.”
My hand trembles as it rests on my stomach, tracing the lacy waistband, my finger sliding back and forth, teasing myself as he watches, his intensity making my breath quicken, my heart hammer. “Do it, Lil,” he demands, and I obey, my fingers slipping beneath the lace, brushing through my pubic hair, finding my clit. A hiss escapes me, my eyes fluttering closed, the sensation electric.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I snap my eyes open, held captive by his gaze, dark and possessive. “Start stroking.”
I comply, my fingers gliding up and down, slow, gathering wetness, a whimper slipping out as I flick my clit, then tease my entrance, my middle finger dipping inside, just barely. My body hums, the pleasure intensified by his stare, but it’s not enough—I want him.
“Are you fucking yourself?” he asks, his voice rough, and I shake my head.
“Not really,” I admit, my voice soft, needy. “I’d rather it was your fingers.”
His eyes flare, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He shakes his head, like I’m too much. “Beg for it, little Lily. Tell me you want me.”
“I want you so bad,” I whimper, shame melting under the weight of my desire, my voice breaking. “Please, Crew. Touch me.”
He’s on the bed in a flash, jeans half-undone, revealing a trail of dark hair disappearing into his boxer briefs, his erection straining, massive, begging for release. I reach out, my fingers trailing his length, feeling him throb, and he bites back a groan, his face thrusting into mine. His kiss is tense, his tongue plunging, claiming, and I melt, my body yielding as he yanks my hand from my panties, replacing it with his own. His touch is rough, fingers thrusting, thumb pressing my clit, and I cry out, the intensity overwhelming, my body arching into his hand.
“Fuck my hand,Lil.”
“You like that?” he whispers against my lips, and I nod, frantic, my hips moving, awkward at first, then finding a rhythm, fucking his hand as he urged. It’s raw, desperate, the pleasure building, sharp and consuming.
“Oh God,” I moan, eyes squeezed shut, lost in the sensation, my body helpless, chasing release. He adds a second finger, stretching me, the slight pain fading into bliss as I adjust, my breath ragged, my heart racing.
“Lil,” he murmurs, his kiss softening, his touch gentling, rubbing my clit, coating his fingers in my wetness. He pulls out his fingers at my lips. “Taste.”
I part my lips, sucking his fingers, tasting myself, a moan escaping as the act sends a fresh wave of heat to my core. I’m throbbing, aching, and he knows it, his eyes dark with triumph.
“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” he asks, and I nod, shameless, consumed by need.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice raw, my body his to command.
“I’d do anything for you also,” he says, his fingers trailing my belly, raising goosebumps, then cupping my pussy, holding me tight. “Will you give me this?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my eyes locked on his, the darkness in his gaze thrilling, terrifying. “I want you to fuck me.”
He’s pleased, his smile wicked. “Say it again, Lil.”
“I want you to fuck you, Crew,” I say, bolder now, my embarrassment fading, my desire a fire that burns away fear.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice softening, and I trust him, knowing he won’t. “I’m gonna make you come. Again and again. Relax.”
He kisses me everywhere, peeling off my bra, sliding my panties down, his lips worshipping my inner thigh, my hip, my belly button. I melt, tension easing, my body his canvas. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my pussy as he settles between my legs, his mouth hovering, teasing. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I beg, my voice a desperate plea, my body trembling, ready to shatter under his touch, to give him everything—my body, my heart, my soul—in this stolen, snowy night, far from my father’s threats, where I’m his, and he’s mine.