Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

I shove two pillows under her hips, then frantically open my nightstand drawer, in search of a condom, while kicking my sweatpants down.

“That was so hot,” Reggie slurs. “You might be the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Whether she is drunk on endorphins or just had the misfortune of not meeting too many men in her lifetime is beside the point. I’m not about to dispute her assessment.

I sheath myself, pin her down by pressing my palm to her lower back, and shove into her from behind, watching her neck extend in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth open in ecstasy.

“Yes!”

I thrust deeper.

“Holy shit!”

And deeper—holy shit indeed, she is tighter than a cigarette filter, for God’s sake.

“Dude, I’m so happy I wasn’t there in 1776 when we fought the Brits. I would surrender my own mother for a tumble with you.” She laughs throatily, and my cock swells inside her.

I thrust again, wrapping her satin hair in my fist. She is warm and sweet and sleek and everything I love in a woman.

And she’s a history buff, like yours truly.

Or maybe she just knows her dates really well. But something tells me we are compatible in more ways than we should be, considering how we come from such different walks of life.

I decide to test that theory while simultaneously ruining her uterus, and her, for all other men.

“And I’d surrender to you like Lord Cornwallis in New York, guaranteeing your independence,” I murmur into the shell of her ear, nibbling it tauntingly.

“You mean in Yorktown, Virginia,” she moans, yet I can see from the way her head is angled that she is frowning at my calculated mistake.

“West Virginia or just Virginia?” I shoot back.

“Jesus, man, that happened before the Civil War.” Her pussy clenches around my cock punishingly, milking my cum out of it. My whole body is humming with the need to come inside her. Bareback with this girl would be like getting all my Christmas presents at once. Hell, maybe it will be my Christmas present this year.

“Marry me,” I blurt, feeling my balls tightening.

What. In. The. Actual. F. Did. I. Just. Say?

Before hearing her answer, I flip her over so she is on her back, throw her legs over my shoulders, and enter her so deep I’m surprised I’m not poking any internal organs. She fists my sheets and screams in pleasure, throwing her head back.

“Oh my God, Ho!”

“Reggie.” I’m quivering. We need stage names for sex, I swear, because Reggie and Ho sounds like the name of the worst morning show nobody wants to watch.

“I’m close.”

“How close?” I’m about to find my release, and coming together would be divine.

“Closer than the British Empire was to world domination circa 1921.”

Bullocks. That’s very close.

We both shudder and moan our releases at the same time, and I collapse over her tiny body, framing it, coating it with my own sweat. We become an entangled heap of limbs and damp flesh, the sweet-salty scent of sex wafting in the air, like a lazy cloud above us.

Our hearts beat to the same rhythm.

My lips are in her hair, and I’ve never touched anything softer.

I realize I want this woman in my bed tomorrow, and the day after that, the week that follows, the month, the year…