I gun the throttle and speed through the night like an arrow.
When I pull up to the house it is completely dark.
I smirk. The total blackout is a telltale sign Chels is feeling herself up. She believes that if it’s dark then she’s not really masturbating or some shit like that.
As if I cared. As if I didn’t watch her a hundred times when we were teenagers because she oh so conveniently left the door ajar. I watched her feverishly work her fingers beneath the cotton, her knuckles making weird humps as she tried hard to get herself off. She’d reach a small plateau, give herself a break and then go at it again because her tiny little orgasms wrought from her fingers weren’t much more satisfying than eating bacon for breakfast when you wanted a big goddamned steak. A temporary reprieve.
I wonder if she’s heard the bike or if she’s too lost in her own world. I hope it’s the latter. I want to watch her again. After, I want to pluck her hand from her panties and suck her fingers clean.
Shit, I laugh softly to myself as I roll the bike to the side of the house. I have so many things I want to do to Chelsea, I wonder if we’ll both live long enough to do even half of them.
Inside the house, it is mouse quiet and I can’t help but creep down the hall, skipping over the board by the bathroom that is squeaky as all hell. My night vision is pretty good so I can make out her form on the bed. There’s a bit of moonlight shining in, and in the blue-black, I see she’s lying on her bed, her face turned into the crook of her right arm while her left hand is busy in her panties. She’s rubbing herself pretty fast, as if I’ve come in on the tail end of her action. I wait, then, to see if she’s gotten any better since I’ve been gone.
Her hand makes jerky movements and she moans into the flesh of her upper arm, but it’s a moan of frustration and not satisfaction. Poor baby. I push the door open and the sound startles her. She whips her hand from her panties and sits up.
“Who’s there?”
Who? That makes me unaccountably angry. I stomp forward. “Who in the hell would it be?”
“I don’t know, Grant.” She jerks a blanket over her body. “That’s why I fucking asked.”
“You expecting someone?”
“What business is it of yours?”
Shit, this girl wants me to blister her ass.
“You’ve been my business since your sweet ass waltzed through the front door.”
“I was fourteen, you prick,” she gasps in false outrage.
“You couldn’t stop staring at my package,” I counter. I remove my belt and toss it on the end of the bed. I might need that later if she’s too much of a wildcat. It’ll be a good restraint around her wrists. Good thing she can’t see me smile in the dark.
“You walked around with nothing on,” she protests.
“You still looked.” I pull off my shirt and then my boots, jeans and boxers. Grabbing myself and giving my aching cock a rough caress, I say, “If you aren’t interested there are plenty of girls back at the club who’ll take care of this.”
She bites her lip and then sits up, the blanket falling to her waist. I notice then she’s wearing an old tank of mine. The neckline hangs so low, the tops of her breasts are showing and the arm holes gape open showing the side of her fat tits. My mouth waters. I give myself another stroke but I’m in no danger of coming. My dick has had my hand wrapped around it plenty. It wants Chels. Her mouth. Her cunt. Her tits. Her ass. Chels and no one else. “You never answered me.”
“I want it,” she mumbles.
“What’s that?” I cup a hand near my ear.
“Fuck you. I want it. That. You. Now give it to me.” She rises to her knees and places a small palm on my hip. I jerk forward.
Ha. I laugh at myself, at my own weakness, my own predictability. My hand jerking me for hours won’t bring me off but the press of her fingers against my hip and I’m ready to blow.
“Open up then.”
She braces herself, one hand on my hip and one on my abdomen as I guide the cockhead into her open mouth. The first touch of her wet tongue against my flesh has me jerking against her like a boy. I wrap my hands in her hair so it doesn’t obscure this vision. The silk fall of her wheat colored hair is smooth and slippery. I gather it into a fist and cup my hand around her head as she moves forward with deliberate intent. The height of the bed forces her to arch her back and pushes her ass in the air. I reach out and run the heel of my hand over the bumps of her spine until I reach the insane curve of her ass.
Chels is round all over. Big hips, soft thighs, juicy ass and primo tits. A man’s woman. She was a knockout at sixteen and time had only made her juicier. I slide a finger down her crack and straight into her cunt. She moans around me, the sound vibrating down my cock and into my brain.
“Deeper, Chels. Take it to the back of your throat. Let me feel it.”
She drips over my finger at my words, at my cock in her mouth, at my finger pumping inside her so-tight pussy.
“It's been a long time for both of us, hasn't it?” I murmur. She nods eagerly, the motion causing my cock to bounce inside her mouth. Her lips press down and she sucks harder, dragging a tremor from me. Her mouth sucking hard and enthusiastically is nirvana but I lift her off because I need my cock inside her tight grasp. I’ve been waiting for the moment when her cunt closes around me since I walked through those prison gates. And I know she’s aching too. I wrench away, her saliva coating my cock.
I pull on her hair until she’s kneeling and slam my mouth against hers. It’s a deep kiss, full of heat and need. She claws at my shoulders, climbing me like a tree until her drenched pussy is rubbing against my groin.
“You need my cock stuffing you full, don’t you, sweetness?”
“Hurry,” she whimpers. Her moans are tinted with needy distress.
I don’t waste another minute. Holding her plump ass in one hand, I use my other to posit
ion my cockhead at her opening. There is something almost religious about entering her. On the stand, I’d swear that the heavens opened and angels fucking sang. I close my eyes to savor the snug suck of her cunt walls. She whimpers again and it’s like the first time I took her. My cock becomes impossibly thick at the memory, at the now.
I want to possess her. I want her to admit that this pussy is mine. I ask her a question I have no business asking. One she’s already answered but I need some goddamn reassurance.
I pause, just the tip inside her. “You had anyone since me?”
“No.” Her answer is terse and she tries to bear down but I’m the one holding her and I pull my cock out.
“Fuck you, Grant.” She punches my shoulder.
“Why not?” I’m not putting my dick inside her until she says what I want to hear. I’m being a manipulative jealous bastard, but I can’t stop myself.
“You know why.” She wiggles, rubbing her pussy lips along my rigid length.
“Fucccck,” I hiss. “I want to hear the words.”
“Because, dammit,” she pants, “no one does it for me but you.”
“You’re a twisted fuck but you’re my twisted fuck. Only mine.” I growl, squeezing her plump ass cheek.
“I hear you. Your mouth is right by my ear,” she snarks.
I shove inside of her in one forceful thrust. She has no more smart ass comments. Her head falls back and she screams out. Her trigger has always been sensitive and this time is no different. She goes off like a rocket, her walls milking my cock and making me crazy. I reach between us and pinch the base so I don’t blow too. I want to last more than two seconds long.
“I’m not using a condom. It’s been three years and you were my last. You on the pill?”
She rolls her hips and I gasp. My knees give out and I tumble her backward onto the bed.
“Why would I be?” It’s a half snarl, half moan.
“Right fucking answer.” The new position allows me better leverage. I jack into her with ferocity. I wish I could go slower, draw it out longer. Next time. It’s a drumbeat. Next time. Next time. Next—