I’m panting, fucking panting.
“Texas? God, uh,” pant, pant, breathe deep, “you might as well be in Jersey, that’s so fucking far away.”
“Actually,” he’s nibbling his way up the other side of my neck, “I think Texas is farther away from New Jersey.”
Right. A small part of me tries to pull up my geography lessons from fifth grade but I quickly give up. That was a long time ago and I just don’t care that much right now.
I feel my legs give way beneath me and I begin an unplanned descent down the front of the fridge. Chase, lightning fast, grabs my arms and stops me mid-slide.
We stand there for a moment, staring at each other, and then he slides his arm underneath me and scoops me up into his arms.
“I think it’s about time we test out the strength of the couch, don’t you think?” he asks, carrying me over to it.
Sounds like a damn good idea to me.
47
Carla
There’s a lot to be said about kissing. Nowadays, most men just want to get their clothes off and stick their cocks somewhere dark and warm; kissing has been relegated to the lesser category of foreplay. But that’s wrong; kissing is an art form, and a lost one at that.
That’s why a kiss can tell you a lot of things, especially about how good everything else is going to be. And when Chase’s lips touch mine, I only need a fraction of a second to realize that, with him, I’m in for a treat.
His mouth fits on mine like the long lost piece of a puzzle, and I just close my eyes and surrender to him. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me into him, our bodies pressed tight as I use my tongue to part his lips and explore his mouth. He tastes differently from all the other men I’ve kissed, and I can’t help but think that this is how a real man should taste. It reminds me of the ocean and of long plains, a day’s work under the setting sun.
Our tongues dance around one another softly, and I feel myself growing wetter with each passing second. The fabric of my thong is already sticking to my skin, my fluids drenching it as desire takes over me. I’ve never been a naive woman; I’m a city dweller, after all, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny in my entire life. It’s as if there’s an aura around Chase, one of power and manliness, and that aura envelops and subjugates me without a word between us.
“Carla,” he says, my name hanging heavy in the air around us. I stare into his eyes, my mouth slightly ajar as my heart starts drumming a wild song of lust and sin.
“Fuck me,” I find myself saying, the sound of my voice coming out of my lips honeyed and sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever been this direct with a man, but with Chase, I just know small-talk isn’t something that’s necessary. One exchanged glance and we already know everything there’s to know.
He doesn’t reply; he just smiles, his lips curling into a grin, and then kisses me again. His hands go around my waist and then down, over the curve of my ass cheeks, and he pulls me into him harshly. I thrust against him without even thinking, needing to feel my crotch against his; there’s something big there, something long and thick, and it’s pulsing with a raw hunger that makes my insides clench.
I place one hand on his chest and slowly slide it down his shirt, only stopping when I find the hem of his pants. I feel his leather belt under my fingertips, and I bite my lower tip as I open my hand wide and prepare to go for his crotch.
Still without saying a word, he grabs my hand and, looking into my eyes, places it over the hard shape pushing back again
st his pants. I bite harder on my lower lip, realizing that his cock is far bigger than I thought it’d be. I curl my fingers around its thick shape, but I can barely grab it with just one hand.
“It’s so…” I start to say, lowering my voice until it becomes just a whisper, but I don’t know how to finish my sentence. It’s so what? Big, huge, monstrous? It’s all that and some more, and I can’t wait to really feel it. My heart is beating so fast now that I can barely think straight, but my unconscious mind is still working: letting go of his cock, I go for his belt and unbuckle it. Then, taking a deep breath to steady my hands, I undo the top button of his pants and pull the zipper down.
His cock is tenting his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but look down at it. With one finger, I trace its contour, going from its root to the tip. Twelve inches, if not more, that’s my guess. I grit my teeth and, moving fast, slide my hand under his boxer briefs and, turning my wrist, I grab his thick shaft. The warmness of his cock spreads to the palm of my hand, and that’s all it takes for me to become a truly wet mess. It won’t be long before my fluids start dripping down my legs.
“Like it?” he asks me, grinning, and the look in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer. I just nod, running my tongue between my lips. Holding my breath, I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him softly as the hunger in eyes keeps on growing.
“I’ve never been with anyone so… big,” I admit, suddenly feeling dizzy as I imagine his thick cock trying to push its way past my pussy lips. Is that even physically possible? I mean, without killing me? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell willing to find out. You know, for science.
“Here’s your chance, I’m right here,” he says, leaning into me and brushing his lips against my ear. A shiver climbs up my spine as his deep rugged voice caresses my eardrums, and I stop stroking him and just tighten my fingers around his shaft, feeling it pulse against the palm of my hand.
With one hand on my waist, he pushes me until my back’s against the wall, and then he takes one hand right to between my thighs. He flattens the palm of his hand against my pussy, bunching up my dress in the process. I gasp as he does it, but then I moan as he takes his hand off and slides it under the hemline of my dress, his fingers finding their way to my drenched thong.
“Seems like you really want my cock,” he says, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the wet fabric, caressing my pussy lips. My muscles tense up under his touch, and it feels like his fingers are made of fire and electricity. There’s something magical to his touch, that’s for sure.
“You seem tight,” he whispers, that grin of his widening until it becomes devilish, “are you tight, Carla?”
“I… I…” I mutter, but I don’t even know what to tell him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll see that for myself soon enough,” he says, and that image of his cock pushing its way past my drenched folds bubbles up to the surface once more.