My back arches, and suddenly he’s off the bed. “Hang on a second.” And it is merely a second—just a breath—before he’s returned, sitting on his haunches with his large sex jutting from his hips. I hear the rip before I see him roll the condom over his sex.
He looks back up, his dark eyes wide and glassy. “Tell me no if you don’t want it.” He crawls over me, tracing his fingertip over my puffy slit. “I can lick this pussy, make you come like that.”
“I want you,” I whisper.
When he presses his tip into my slit again, I moan and thrust against him. My heart races, and my head feels light and hollow.
“It’s gonna hurt.” His words are groaned, as if he’ll feel the pain as well.
He rubs his thick tip where I’m slick, the latex-covered head of him brushing deliciously against my clitoris before he drags himself back through my folds, making me lift my hips. Then he’s there—he’s where I’m pooled wet with desire and swollen with need. I can feel the pressure of him as he fits himself against me.
But instead of pressing in, he leans back over me, his lips and tongue teasing my nipple, his sheathed sex pressed into the crevice between my hip and thigh as our taut bodies quiver.
I run my fingers through his soft hair, tugging. “Let it hurt, then.”
He gives me his eyes—careful as ever; even beneath the glaze of lust, I feel his kind concern for me—and then he’s bowed again between my thighs, lapping at me with his silken tongue when what I need is his thick sex. He’s stoking my fire, and I can scarcely bear it.
“Please…oh please!” His tongue skates around my clit, making me gasp, then groan low. Finally, he fills me with his fingers. He pushes in and then drags out, and my knees clench around his shoulders.
“Oh!”
He probes deeper, and his mouth—
I try to fight what’s overtaking me, but I can feel it rolling in—the sort of tide that stretches smooth before it gathers in a round fury and crashes hard against the rock. I come apart like white caps spraying, making rainbows.
Then I’m fuzzed about the edges, so much so, I nearly fail to notice him; he’s risen up onto his knees, and his large hand is wrapped around his sex. He’s pushed it down toward his thigh, out of the limelight. But I can see it, long and condom-white and thick, still begging for attention.
Tears are drying on my cheeks. I laugh though them, and when he smiles at me, his handsome face is warm and kind—indulgent.
He shifts, as if he’s moving to stretch out beside me. I shove at him.
His eyes round in inquiry.
“Sit up—please. I want to see it.”
He does—and I do. It’s standing tall and thick and proud, its thick tip pressed against his navel. The weighty globes below look taut, distinctly darker than the pearly latex.
“May I…touch it?”
Just the barest hesitation, then he’s stretching out beside me, lying on his side with his hips near my shoulders, putting himself within my reach. I grab hold and rub gently from tip to base. Then I cup his balls, my fingers trembling as I stroke there.
His eyes close. T
he rough sound from his throat is both grunt and groan. Something in me coils more tightly.
“Does it feel good?” I trace a fingertip around the flanged rim of his tip, and his whole lower body jerks.
“Ahh…Jesus.”
There’s a notch there on the underside of his head. I can see it plainly through the latex. I press there, and he barks out a groan so loud, I jerk my hand back.
“Fuck.” His arm covers his face, and his hips rock toward me. I feel so wet and ready, somehow both heavy and empty, buzzing…as I rise up on my knees and urge him onto his back. His sex juts over his flat belly, inviting me to wrap my hand around it. I lean down, curious if I can lick it…and I do. I lick at the tip, grinning as I find it tastes like candy.
He fingers thread through my hair as I tease him with my tongue, then suck the tip of him into my mouth. Anna told me what to do, the way you need to stroke the shaft and do as much as you can to the tip; men like to be teased there. If you take it into your mouth, swallow back deeply and don’t let your teeth touch.
I do everything I know to. It works like magic. Throaty moans and raspy whimpers come from his throat, and his hands cinch in my hair. I can feel it building in him, feel his hips shift as he tries to keep himself from shoving down my throat. I suck his thick tip, tracing the rim with my tongue.
My hands tremble as I realize I’m doing this.