Big Man(23)

My vision turns to blurry sparks, and my body shakes from the force of it, my pussy convulsing.

Grant, for his part, doesn’t stop. He just leans back a little and slides one finger into me, even as my pussy clamps down tightly around him. He curls it inside me, drags his finger along my front wall with practiced motions, finding my G-spot easily. He adds a second finger, then leans down to tongue my clit again at the same time, and I cry out once more, my voice harsh from overuse.

Fuck, I think, or maybe scream, I’m not sure. His touch keeps the sensation going, keeps my body hovering right there on the brink, as I brace for an aftershock. But with his fingers inside me, pressing against my G-spot, stroking in and out, filling me, and his tongue still lashing across my clit again and again, unrelenting, the second orgasm hits harder than the first. My hips buck, and I can hardly catch my breath, my whole body shaking hard.

He finally draws his fingers out of me, only when my hips sag back against the blanket and my eyes drift closed, the sheer force of that orgasm making me relaxed, stunned. He sits upright and I peer down to watch him licking his fingers clean, one at a time, eyes focused on mine.

But if anything, all those orgasms did was make me hungrier for him. Hungry to have him fill me completely, in the way only his cock can do.

I reach up for him eagerly, and he falls across me on all fours as I fumble with the button of his jeans. He’s rock hard underneath, and it only takes a moment for me to shove his jeans down, his boxers after them, until his cock springs free.

Now he’s the impatient one.

“Fuck, Sasha.” He grabs my legs and spreads them wide, kneeling between. I arch up to wrap my thighs around his waist, as he lines up his cock with my soaking wet entrance. “You are so. Fucking. Perfect,” he murmurs as he stares into my eyes, slowly, slowly pressing into me.

He feels incredible. My pussy is already sensitive from the double orgasm, and the feeling of his cock spreading me, stretching me to my limit, drives me wild. I tighten my legs around his waist with every inch he pushes into me, and when he’s finally completely inside me, I wrap my arms around his shoulders too, hold him there inside me for a moment, just savoring the feeling of his cock, his body, him, here with me.

“Fuck you feel so fucking incredible,” he murmurs.

“I fucking love it when you fill me up,” I gasp. “I can’t get enough…”

“Good.” Those dark eyes latch onto mine. I could stare into his eyes forever and never get tired of this look he gives me. Like he cannot drink me in long enough. Like he’s almost scared of what he feels for me.

I know the feeling. I am too.

“Neither can I,” he admits. Then he’s drawing back, out of me, and I gasp a little in protest. But it doesn’t last long—he thrusts back inside me a moment later, and I buck up against him, eager, insatiable.

Grant starts to rock back and forth, thrusting into me slowly at first, but building momentum. I meet him thrust for thrust, arcing my hips to push up against his with every moment. Before long, we’re both gasping, clinging to one another, my nails digging into his back and his hands so tight on my hip I know he’ll leave marks tomorrow. I don’t care. I want those marks. Evidence of how much he wants me—how much I cause him to lose control.

Before long we’re both thrusting as hard as we can, fucking hard and fast, my whole body alight with pleasure, on fire for him. Sensitive as I am, it doesn’t take me long to build back up to the edge, my clit throbbing with the force of the last two orgasms still.

Grant unhooks my legs from around him, flings them up over his shoulders and keeps fucking me, his cock dragging right over my G-spot now, the head rubbing along it until I cry aloud and feel my toes curl, my nerves catching fire with another orgasm.

“Fuck. Sasha… I’m…”

Grant is lost now, driving into me, all animal now. Before long, I sense him nearing his peak, and I tighten my pussy as much as I can, clenching hard around him. He moans aloud when I do that, and I feel his cock tense and jump inside me as he comes, squirting deep inside me, coating my insides with his hot cum. It feels white hot inside my pussy, like a balm after all the hard fucking.

When he pulls out of me, we both laugh softly at the hot rush that trickles down my leg, puddling on the blanket beneath me.

Grant collapses beside me, still breathing hard. “That…”

“Was incredible,” I finish, curling against him. He’s slick with sweat, but then, so am I. Our skin cools together in the night air, and we lie there beside the slowly dying fire, soaked in our sweat, the scent of sex mingling with the smells of the outdoors and the fields and the wild, until we’re both shivering. Only then, reluctantly, do we sit up and reach for our clothes.

But Grant stops me before I tug mine back on, a spark in his eyes. “Why redress?” he asks with a shrug. “If we need to go shower anyway.”

I laugh. Then lift my eyebrows, watching him. Why, indeed?

He douses the fire, and then, with our clothes tucked under our arms, hand-in-hand, we pad back across the fields. This time we’re not just barefoot, we’re completely naked. But there’s something so freeing about it. About feeling the night air on my skin, the moonlight illuminating us, the bright stars overhead our only witnesses.

I could get used to this, I think as we reach the farmhouse again, and Grant opens the door for me, bows me inside with a wink, ever the gentleman.

That’s the dangerous part. I could very, very easily get used to this.





10





Grant Werther





What is this girl doing to me? I’ve never felt like this before.

I thought I was going to go crazy at the Johnsons’ party, watching her strutting around in that sexy, tight little dress. And when I won the bet after we played pool, it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to bend her over the table and claim her right there, onlookers be damned.

We’ve spent the last two days since the party doing nothing but fucking. Well, working on the house, in between. But those hours tend to fly past in a daze, with half my mind focused on the next time I’ll get to strip her down and take my time making her come again and again. I barely even notice the work I’m doing, because I’m so focused on thinking about her tight little ass, her sexy breasts and her perfect pussy. The way her voice goes throaty and sultry when she’s trying to turn me on (which really doesn’t take much). The way she gasps when she comes, or how her pussy always contracts around my cock when her orgasm hits with my dick balls-deep inside her.

Fuck. I’m getting hard now just thinking about it, and I still have to finish this fence before nightfall. We’re running short on days now. Short on days and time. Something I don’t want to think about.

So I just keep focusing on the work. The work and Sasha’s perfect body.

Not to mention our conversations. Over dinner every night, she tells me about everything she accomplished during the day, her eyes bright with excitement. She doesn’t even notice it. She doesn’t hear the way she’s enjoying this, getting down and dirty, putting some callouses on those smooth, sexy city hands of hers.

At night, we lie side-by-side out in the yard, counting stars—or ignoring the stars when we lose ourselves in each other more often than not. But just last night, after we fucked hard in the grass, covering ourselves in dew, I pulled her onto my chest to watch the night sky, and she sighed, cuddling into me.

“I feel more relaxed right now than I have in years,” she whispered, and I held her tighter. Willed her to hear her own words. To realize what they mean.

But she doesn’t.

This morning over breakfast, she popped in with a cheery smile, talking about what a nice vacation this has been. A great break from the work she’s going to have to go back and slog through as soon as we’re done. She went on a twenty minute rant about work, and I didn’t say a word, just buried my face in my cereal bowl, because how am I supposed to respond to that?

You can’t exactly say wake up and smell the country-baked bread, Sasha, you’re not meant for city life. You can’t exactly tell somebody that they’re glowing in a way they weren’t just days ago. You can’t tell someone what to do in their life, even when you know what’s right for them, when you know they’d be happier if they listened to you.

You can’t, because that’s up to them. They need to figure out their own lives. Make their own calls.

Even if it kills you to watch.

“Lunch?” Sasha calls from the house, and I dust off my palms, glance over my shoulder at her. She’s still wearing those jean shorts. She loves how wild they drive me. Loves positioning herself right in front of me to work, so I’m stuck staring at that juicy, pert little ass until I can’t take it anymore and I give up on work and go to peel those jean shorts off.

But I shake off that urge right now. I’m too annoyed after this morning.

“I’m good,” I call, and turn back to the fence. I figure that’ll be the end of it until I hear the now familiar sound of bare feet padding across the grass.

“What’s up with you?” a voice asks at my elbow. I’ve come to recognize that tone of hers by now. The exasperated one. The one she turns on when I don’t want to talk—but she does.