She’s not drunk now, and she’s not pushing me away. Her hands have found their way around my neck, and she’s clinging to me like a vine. My cock instantly hardens. I slide my hands under her ass and lift her up so that the notch of her pussy meets my shaft. The contact pulls a groan from my chest. I need a horizontal surface immediately. Like ten minutes ago.
Her apartment is small—a studio—and the only table she has is covered with planning materials. The bed is full of samples. Fuck it. I don’t care. I cross the room and lower her onto the mattress without breaking contact. I have this sixth sense that if I stop kissing her, she’s going to come to her senses and kick me out. I can’t have that. Not until my cock is balls deep in her sweet, hot cunt.
I find the zipper of her jeans and tug it down enough to get my hand inside. I slide two fingers through her short, trimmed bush until I reach her pussy. She’s wet. Really wet. My middle finger slips inside. This pulls a moan from her.
I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay. She’s tight as fuck, but I can work with this. Instead, I just kiss her harder as I start stroking that soft channel. She trembles in my arms. She needs more. I give it to her, adding another finger and then one more. I curl my fingers toward the front of her cunt, searching for that small patch of skin with its thousands of nerve endings. Her hips move in concert with my hand until she’s riding my fingers, galloping toward the orgasm that is banging at the door of her brain.
I stab my tongue inside of her mouth, wanting nothing more than to be tasting her cunt, sucking her juices straight from the well. Silently, I urge her on. Baby, come for me. Fuck my fingers until you come. Ride me. Use me. Fuck me.
Behind the denim, my cock strains for release. He wants to be where my fingers are. He wants to be wet with her honeyed liquid. Blood pounds in my ears. Yeah, reach for it. It’s right there. I’ve got you. I’m here for you. Don’t be scared, baby. This is good. It’s all good.
She gasps loudly and breaks the seal between our mouths. “Wyatt!” she cries.
“Yeah, baby. I got you. Just fuck my hand.” I slam my fingers inside of her, pressing the pads of my fingertips over and over that small patch as I suck on her earlobes, scraping my teeth along her arched throat. We haven’t removed her shirt, so I’m stuck with sucking her nipples through her sweater and bra, but I don’t care, and she doesn’t seem to either.
She comes with a shout and a shudder. Her back arches and her fingernails dig into my wrist, where she clutches me in place. I keep whispering encouragement. “You’re so fucking beautiful right now. You’re an angel. Keep going, baby. Ride it. Ride it.”
I give one last thrust and then remain still as she allows the ecstasy to crash over her, carrying her away. I brush my lips against her cheek and forehead and nose before slowly pulling out. Her juice coats my fingers and hand.
I bring the digits to my mouth and taste her. Heaven. I can’t wait until it’s my mouth between her legs instead of my fingers. Once we’re married, I’ll be having her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“So about the wedding. What time next Saturday?”
Lucy makes a weird sound and scoots off the bed. “I’m going to the bathroom. Please leave before I come out.”
I watch like a dumbass with my fingers in my mouth as she disappears inside her tiny bathroom at the end of the studio apartment. The door closes, and I jump up to my feet. At the sink, I wash off my hands before knocking on the door. “Why would I be going anywhere?”
“Please, Wyatt, if you have any soft feelings for me, leave now,” comes the soft reply.
My cock says no. My cock says break down the fucking door, rip off her clothes, take her up against the tile wall until she’s weak, and then just carry her to a nearby justice of the peace. But I can’t because my heart is full of soft feelings for her and she sounds broken up in there.
“I wouldn’t have touched you if I thought you didn’t want it,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
Tension spreads across my shoulders. I hate this. “I’m leaving. Take care of yourself, Lucy Loo.”
She doesn’t reply, not even to the cutesy nickname that usually elicits a punch in the shoulder or a groan of dismay. There’s only silence on the other side of the wall.