E is for Everett (Men of Alphabet Mountain)

I scooted so that I was on my back, my head against the pillows as he positioned himself between my thighs. Our eyes burned into each other as I bit my lip, hungry for him inside me. I placed my hands on his shoulders as he held my hips in place, my ankles crossing over his ass. The head brushed through my folds and covered itself in the dampness of my pussy.

With a massive thrust, he plunged into me, and I cried out. He was so thick, long, and powerful that it brought me right to the edge. One hand slid down under my ass and the other across my back to hold my opposite shoulder as he held me tightly in place.

Everett rocked his hips slowly, letting me adjust to him as he stretched me. The cry that I thought had escaped was stuck in my throat, and my eyes were wide as I held my jaw open. Finally, a deep breath escaped, and when I sucked back in, I gained the ability to make noise again.

“Fuck me,” I cried.

The next little while became a dizzying, sweaty, incredible experience in carnal ecstasy. I would mount him and ride him with his hands filling with my breasts and then he would roll me over onto my stomach, keeping my legs nearly shut, and penetrate me from behind, driving his cock so deep in me that I nearly broke the headboard hanging on for dear life. Sheets came off the corners and balled up where my fists had clenched them, and sweat beaded on my head, slicking my hair back.

I lost count of the climaxes. They rolled from one into another, seemingly without space between them. My entire body tingled as he carried me to the window and pressed me against it. The cold glass against my nipples brought a new sensation to the mix, and I held on to the window frame, glad my window only faced the empty lot behind the apartments. Still, the danger of being so visible added to the sensation, and I came hard on him as he groaned heavier and heavier with each thrust.

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly take any more, he exploded in me, and I came again. His hot, messy climax filled me, and I milked him until he was empty, our bodies slick and curled against one another against the window. When he finally pulled out, we tumbled to the bed together and lay there, panting for a long time, only the sound of exhausted, satisfied laughter bubbling up from either of us.

“I know this should be impossible,” he said a little while later as we were curled up in the bed together, “but I’m hungry.”

“Well, you worked up an appetite,” I said, laughing. “Come to think of it, I could go for something to eat too.”

It was nearing midnight and the moonlight came in through the window, casting the only light in the room. I kissed his chest and rolled out of bed to dig through my clothes. I found my panties and slipped them on, then reached into the top dresser to grab a sports bra and throw it on too. I figured if he was going to bounce on me, it didn’t matter what I wore, but if he was going to be around me again, he might as well see me in less sexy clothes now that he’d seen me in none.

He didn’t seem to mind.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Chateaux le Fridge,” I said. “I haven’t been here long, but I have a few things in there we can make something out of. Come on.”

Grinning, he slid out of the bed and put his boxers back on. I laughed as we traipsed through the apartment to the kitchen, and I opened the fridge to look at what was inside. There wasn’t much, but there was enough to make some mean sandwiches.

I pulled out some onions and cheese and tomatoes and handed them to him.

“Can you mise en place?”

“What?” he asked.

I smiled and shook my head. “Cut the onions into slices and the tomatoes too. It just means to prepare and put everything in its place. Like cutting up the vegetables before you cook anything.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right. So, I have a confession.”

“Uh oh,” I said, digging in the cold box for the deli meats. “Not like an ‘I’m married’ confession, right?”

“No,” he said. “Nothing like that. Just… I can’t cook.”

“So?” I laughed. “Most people can’t.”

“I mean, I try. I’m kind of terrible at it,” he said. “I made some stuff for Deacon and Rebecca once, but I think they just pretended to like it.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “Deacon doesn’t seem like the type to sugarcoat things.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I just, I had a cook all my life before the Army, and then I had rations and the chow tent, you know? Nowadays I just eat out all the time.”