King of the Castle

Naughty Noah

Fuck but there's a chill up on that roof terrace. Why does it have to go like below zero at night? I'd go to the fire pit and get Noah to put his money where his mouth is and fuck me down there, but too many cameras and too many lights.

I've got a minute or two to make myself look good, so I do, posing in a way that doesn't make it look like I'm posing, going all natural. I've changed out of the playsuit and stripped down so there's just a flimsy silk dressing gown over me. A raring little red number, something I think Noah will really appreciate.

I hear Noah before I see him, sliding back the drapes over the terrace door. I look round slowly as he steps out into the night, and feel the hunger in my own eyes as I look at him; see it matched and mirrored in him; primal, greedy, hanging heavy with want and anticipation. This has been a long time coming for the both of us.

Like three nights at least.

He adjusts the curtain before he comes over, making sure no one's going to be spying on us like we did the night we saw Gary and Lottie kiss, when the bet was first made. It seems like so long ago, I can't believe tonight is the night we're finally going to fuck. That's my only plan here, the only goal; to let him have me and show me what he's got. Bend me the fuck over, Noah, and fuck me something stupid.

He stalks over, a pinch between his brows while he pins me with a heated stare. He stands, domineeringly over me, showing no give.

To my surprise, he wastes no time. "Strip," he says.

Looking up at him with my big, vulnerable eyes, I make the most of the angle, begging him to imagine me sucking his dick. It's already sticking out glaringly from his tight underwear. I swing my legs off the bench, so I'm sitting like a good girl, batting my lashes and letting the shoulders of my dressing gown sit loosely so it nearly, but not quite, carefully exposes my chest.

"What happened to romance?" I ask, propping my hands on my knees, squeezing my breasts together to make the most of my cleavage. "Don't you want to make this a little special for me, sweetheart?"

He cocks my chin with the crook of his finger, pitting my head back at an uncomfortable angle. With finality, he says, "No."

Eyes still locked on one another, he trails his thumb up to my lips, smearing his prints along my bottom lip until I part them open. My tongue comes to meet him, to get a sample, before I take the whole thing in my mouth, sucking down with barely a blink.

Besides the usual taste, there's something else, something more. I pause mid-suck. I only fully cotton on when Noah sees my hesitation, and he breaks into a slimy little grin.

"How does Hope taste?" He asks.

My heart is fucking racing. Cunt. He really is the fucking worst. The audacity of this man is truly unmatched.

"Just what I need to wash down the taste of Bobby," I fire right back, his wet thumb stroking my cheek.

That's when he gives me a pat that is a hair's breadth from being a slap, right to my cheek again, in the most patronising and condescending way he can. "Atta girl," he says.

Oh, he is so fucking getting it.

"You know," I say, putting that spot of innocence and sincerity in my tone to really sell what a bitch I'm being right now, "I don't think I'm in the mood for fucking right away. I actually want to talk first."

Noah uses his whole head to roll his eyes, throwing it back to glare up at the moon. "About?" He asks as he reels back down, shrugging with delightful passive-aggressiveness. He flops down next to me on the bench, no longer looking at me, arms crossed like a moody teenager, his legs all askew, but nice and open, with the knee nearest me pointed so dramatically my way that it's digging into my thigh.