I reach down, and with some massive effort and crazy gymnastic moves I didn’t know I was capable of, I get my underwear off. When I look back at Wilder, he’s sliding his own down his legs before kicking them onto the floor. I throw mine onto the pile as well.
“Holy smoky bacon,” Wilder breathes.
I realize he’s directing his breathy words below my belly button, and my hoo-ha blushes at the compliment.
“Holy smoky bacon with a side of over-medium eggs,” I also choke out, returning the compliment.
I don’t think Wilder’s dick is a real penis because I believe it’s been replaced by a small tree. And by small, I actually mean not small as there’s nothing small about that happy stick. I can’t believe he could even stuff all that in his gotch, get it into pants, or contain it at all.
Now he’s the one blushing when I look into his face. He falls on his back and rubs his hands over his face. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s alright. I know I’m a big guy, and you’re pretty tiny. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry?” I choke out. I mean, yeah, he has a monster dick, but who in their right mind wouldn’t want to give it a go? I just rode his face, although I was interrupted before what was likely going to be the world’s most amazing orgasm. There’s no backing out now. My hoo-ha would literally do me down if I tried that. “Don’t worry about hurting me. If I’m on top, then I’m technically in control, and if I break myself, it’s only my own fault.”
“Break yourself,” Wilder groans. His cock twitches and sways in the air like a freaking sword. “Don’t say that. You might cause our pleasure to be extremely short-lived.”
I think Wilder would be capable of pleasuring me even if things were short-lived. He gave me a taste of it in the kitchen, kind of literally for him, so I know I’m not just imagining things or overstating.
I climb on top of him again and sit down so I can glide over Mr. Small Tree, which brings both of us immense and obvious pleasure. We both sound like we’ve been turned into cats unless a few of them snuck into the room behind us and are purring up one wild storm.
I can tell Wilder is trying to hold back, and it makes my head swim to even imagine how he thinks I’m attractive enough to kick his mojo into high gear or extra high gear, depending on what defines those gears. He’s not moving, just so I can take the lead.
I lift my hips and set them down again, riding his length and hitting all those fantastic spots that make my brain and lady box feel like they’re going to explode.
A low moan escapes my throat, and I do it again, tilting my hips, rocking back, and hitting my clit. This time, I’m the one grinding my teeth. I need the real thing because I don’t think it’s normal to crave something so badly, to hurt this freaking bad.
I reach down and take Wilder’s happy stick in my hand. It’s big—god, so big—and the veins are bulging out of the soft velvet skin. His head is swollen, and he’s already soaked from me. Or maybe he contributed a little. Either way, he’s glistening, swollen, and quite literally throbbing in my hand. I feel like there’s a sex god on the bed beneath me, and somehow, I’ve been transported to some alternate reality where I get to be the one who enjoys his finer bits, his tree bits—throbbing tree bits.
Argh. I need to do this, and I need to do this now.
I guide Wilder to my entrance, but I haven’t sat down yet. There’s probably two percent trepidation and ninety-eight percent wild desire going on within me right now, but the two percent makes my legs tremble, though alright, maybe the ninety-eight percent does that too. I end up just holding him and getting him soaking wet because my lady cave is like a cave with a not-so-hidden waterfall. He groans and tilts his hips up, driving his small manly tree into my hand. His movement makes my stomach feel all pinched, and it makes my lady bits feel pinched too. Everything feels pinched.
God, I want this. I want this no matter how much it might hurt. There are bad hurts, but as long as I’m careful, that shouldn’t happen. And then there are bad hurts that turn into good hurts. I know any discomfort would probably just feel like straight heaven, but still, I hesitate, looking up into Wilder’s face as he thrusts into my hand again. I’m so buzzed with a raw sexual energy that it’s a miracle I can even see straight. I’m not sure there’s even a difference between this and the last time I was actually drunk, whenever that was, though it’s been a while for both of these things.