“More,” I said. “Please, oh God, it feels so good.”
Between Mac’s finger and Hardin’s mouth, I was close to coming again.
“Climb on that dick, sweetheart,” Mac told me. Hardin’s mouth was busy.
I slid my knees up to the sides of Hardin’s hips, and Mac’s finger slipped from me. Lifting up, I hovered over him.
“Good girl, now grip him. Harder. At the bottom, like that. Yes. Now work him in. Go slow.” Mac gave me instructions. I listened to his words, how carnal and dirty they were. “Look at him stretch that pussy. Fuck, that’s hot as hell. Lift back up, now down. Look how much more you got in.”
He kept talking as I lowered myself onto Hardin’s cock. It wasn’t easy. It was nothing like the dildos I’d played with. They were tiny in comparison. It burned, the stretch, but it also felt good. He was hot and hard, so thick.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Hardin said, his breath fanning my wet nipple. “You’re killing me.”
I looked down at him, the sweat that dotted his brow, the clenched jaw.
I kept going, kept lifting and lowering, slowly fucking myself onto him. “I’m almost there.”
“Yes, you are. Such a good girl taking his big dick,” Mac crooned, his hand caressing my back. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Perfect.”
Finally. Finally I sat on Hardin’s lap, but his dick was all the way inside me. I sat up and gasped, him nudging me so deep. My hands landed on his chest, felt the play of hard muscles beneath his shirt.
While I was completely bare, they only had their dicks out.
“Time to move or I’m going to make a fool of myself.”
I frowned, thought.
“Don’t make her think,” Mac snapped.
Hardin’s hands went to my hips, and he lifted me up so just the flared head of his dick remained inside of me, then pushed me back down.
“Oh my God,” I cried.
Hardin grinned. “Again?”
“Absolutely.”
Even though I was on top, he was doing the guiding, his strength making it easy for him to fuck me. The discomfort faded, and the incredible feelings he was awakening had me moving on my own. His hands fell away as I found my own rhythm. Circled. Lifted. Dropped. Circled again.
Hardin licked the pad of his thumb, then brought it down between us, brushed over my clitoris and—
“Yes!” I screamed, coming as soon as he made contact with that very sensitive bud a few times.
I clenched, squeezed, rode him as I wanted, enthralled by every bit of pleasure.
Hardin’s grip tightened on my hips, and he thrust up into me hard, remained deep as he shouted and came.
I grinned—it was impossible not to—and let my head drop.
“That’s what I’ve been missing?” I asked, weary.
Hardin sounded as if he’d run a marathon. Feeling adventurous, I grabbed the two halves of his flannel, tugged them open. A few buttons flew across the room, bounced off the concrete floor.
“Oh yes,” I said, eager to run my hands over his bare skin. It was hot to the touch, soft, but I could feel the hard play of muscles beneath. He had soft hair on his chest, not too much, just right.
“We’re what you’ve been missing,” Hardin clarified. Perhaps he was right. It might not have been like that with anyone else.
“Up you go,” Hardin said, carefully lifting me off him. “Gotta get rid of the condom.”