Making Out… #NotSoSoft #SundaySnog

250th-bannerHappy Sunday-Funday!

I’m helping Victoria Blisse celebrate her 250th Sunday Snog by posting an excerpt from #NotSoSoft! Make sure you pop over to her place to read the other submissions and donate to a worthy cause!




Making out… The last time I made out, I was sixteen and dry humping on the couch with Cesar. Discovering what this sex thing was and how he could make my body feel.

Making out was now a thing I did with Omar. I’d forgotten how amazing it could be. Kissing and kissing and kissing just to kiss. Touching each other through a barrier of clothing. Igniting nerve endings until he begged for more until he became frantic with want.

I needed this.

I needed to dive down into the sensation. To just be this body against his body. This tongue dancing with his tongue. His breath and mine. I lay on top of him, straddling his waist on his narrow couch. The books we’d been reading, long discarded, lay on the floor next to where Omar writhed against me, his cock hard in his jeans and rocking just right against the seam between my legs.

“Oh my god,” he gasped between kisses. “You’re making me crazy.”

I laughed at him. I was enjoying his distress way too much. This whole process was teaching me something about myself. That I was a bit of a sadist. That I liked delaying my pleasure by denying his; drawing this out until that moment when he would spill if I just blew on his dick softly.

“Let me touch you,” he begged.

His wrists were tied above his head so I could lose myself in all of this kissing without being seduced into doing more by his clever hands.

“Please, Yves. I just want to make you feel good. I just…shit,” he cursed softly as I rolled my denim clad pussy against his denim-clad cock creating a delicious layer of friction.

“This feels good,” I muttered, nibbling at his lips. “Doesn’t it feel good to you?”

“God, yes, but…”

I rolled my hips against him again, and he groaned. “But what?”

“But I know it would feel so much better if you let me fuck you. Can I, please? Oh god. Yves! You’re killing me with this. Please, let me fuck you.”

“Nope,” I said with a laugh. “You haven’t earned that yet.” I ground down on him, kissing and nibbling at his neck.

“What can I do to earn it? Tell me because…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his question because he came with a short, surprised gasp like his orgasm had snuck up on him. His dick pulsed hard, pinned between our clothed bodies.

“Came in your pants again, huh?” I tsked at him softly. “You’re never gonna get to come inside if you can’t even withstand a little dry humping.”

Omar sighed and shook his head. “Not fair. So not fair. You’ve been grinding on my dick for over an hour.”

“Has it been more than an hour?” I glanced over my shoulder at the clock on his bookshelf. Indeed it had been more than an hour, nearly two. Not that I needed to know that. My pussy was so wet in my jeans that I was afraid I would have a dark spot on my crotch when I stood up.

“Yes. I’ve been watching the clock. My dick is still hard, by the way. I could totally go again,” he said, tipping his hips under me. He nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck. “Please…I want to know what it feels like to feel your pussy coming around something more than my fingers.”

“That sounds nice. But I already told you…” I pushed up to stand on shaky legs. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Tell me how to earn it. Whatever it is, I will do it. I will do it so good for you.”

A sneer curled the corner of my mouth as I untied his hands. It was a simple slip knot called cowboy handcuffs that Elijah had taught me. Quick and effective. “I haven’t really decided yet,” I said once his hands were free. I rubbed his wrists, massaging away the red marks made from him trying to twist his hands out of the rope. The moment I let go, he brought them to my waist pulling me down on top of him again. One hand pushed under my shirt, the other down the back of my loose-fitting boyfriend jeans.

“Oh god, you’re so wet…” he mumbled against my neck. “Please…” he begged softly.


“I’m trying.”

The hand in my pants dove down deeper, tickled against the seam of my panties. It was hard to resist, but he had to know that I couldn’t be convinced this way. I sighed and grabbed that hand. He resisted at first, but gave in when I gave him a sharp look. Finally, he let me go, and I stood up again and straighten my clothes.

“Am I ever going to get to have you?”

“Of course.”


“When I’m ready.”

He groaned then sat up and put his bare feet on the floor. “Are you saving it for him?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Did I hear him right?


“No. You clearly have something to say.” I squared my shoulders and stood up tall in front of him. “So say it.”

“You promise not to get angry?” he asked, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

I grinned at him feeling a little mean. “You know I don’t make those kind of promises. What’s in your head?”

Omar sighed and slumped back on the couch. “Did he tell you that you can’t fuck me?”

“You think he controls what happens between you and me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, he doesn’t. We negotiated some very basic guidelines, but none of them have to do with me having sex with you. I could’ve had sex with you that very first night if I wanted to.”

“So why haven’t you? I mean—” He stopped short then made a frustrated sound like he didn’t want to give his thoughts a voice. “Do you just not want to? Is that it?”

“Omar…no.” I stepped between his knees. “I want you. You’ve felt how much I want you. I wouldn’t lay on this couch and kiss you and dry hump you for hours if I didn’t want you.”

“Then what? Are you afraid I won’t measure up?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m talking like this. I sound like a bitch.” He leaned forward, hiding his face in my shirt. “God, I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you. I swear I think about it every second of every fucking day.”

I brought my arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “And that’s why I do it. I like hearing that you’re so desperate to fuck me.”

He looked up at me. “I am desperate. You making me wait…it’s really doing my head in.”

“I get that, but don’t ever think it’s because I don’t want you. I want you, Omar, but, this is my pace. I like to play with you and fuck with your head, but never your emotions. Never like that. Understand?”

He nodded. “But I can’t help how much I want you, Yves. Just let me—”

A knock sounded, interrupting his pleading. His eyes flew to his apartment door and the thinly curtained window that would allow any visitor a peek inside.

“You expecting someone?”

“No, I…”

Click through to read NOT SO SOFT in its entirety. 

One Reply to “Making Out… #NotSoSoft #SundaySnog”

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