I find the rough patch inside her tunnel and start rubbing it, never stopping the movement of my tongue on her button. She's losing it, screaming hoarsely, writhing frantically. But I won't stop, knowing how the pleasure is wracking her and how good she'll feel when she comes.
Soon she's tightening around my fingers, coating them with even more wetness as the orgasm begins. I watch her face as she screams, the veins standing out on her neck when she tenses. Then she's crying out, over and over, her muscles loosening their grip and pulsing gently.
I withdraw my fingers, replacing them with my cock. She gasps sharply as I fill her, and I have to stay still until she relaxes or risk losing it. She's so tight, so hot. I wait until the urge to come passes, watching her as she adjusts to me.
"So big," she whimpers, but the way she thrusts her hips toward me when she says it tells me there's no problem. I slide out, slowly, still watching as her eyes close and a slow smile spreads over her face. I let her feel every inch of me leave until only the head is still inside. I tease her with a few shallow thrusts, and she moans.
"Do you want more?" I ask, rolling my hips. I'm barely holding back, wanting to pound her until we're both raw. But torturing her like this is so much fun.
"Mmmhmm. I want all of it. Give it to me."
She's mine now, I think as I slam home. Her eyes fly open in surprise when she feels me bottom out inside her. I take her wrists, pinning them above her head.
"You want it? You want my cock?" I growl as I ride her. I feel every bit of her as I slam home, her tight sheath gripping me like a vice. She's crying out, incoherent, lost. "Do you like that?"
"Yes! Yes! I love it!"
I respond by slamming home once, twice, hearing her scream softly.
"Turn over," I growl, letting go of her wrists and sliding out briefly. No sooner is she on her knees than I'm lining up with her pussy and thrusting again. I hold onto her hips, pulling them toward me to bring us together even harder. She loves it, gasping and moaning, begging for more. I feel her moving against me, slamming into me, fucking me as I'm fucking her.
I slap her ass, first on one side, then the other. At first she sounds surprised, then she cries out, "Yes! Slap my ass! Please!" I do it again and again, then reach down to pull her up against me so her back is to my chest.
"Ride me," I growl in her ear before biting the lobe. She shivers, but doesn't stop rocking her hips against my cock, grinding sensually. My hands roam over her legs, her hips, up to her tits. I rub them, squeezing them, feeling the way they bounce in my hands with her movement. With one hand, I pull her head to the side to suck on her neck. I need all of her, everything I can feel or taste.
She reaches behind me, holding onto the back of my neck, still fucking me. I cup her mound with my free hand, rubbing her. She's nearly gone now, her voice nonexistent, hoarsely crying out my name.
"Jax! Ohhh, ohhh, oh, Jax!" Her grinding has turned into a frantic bouncing and I know she's ready to come again. My fingers find her clit and she gasps, riding harder and harder. I feel the way her pussy clamps down on my cock and grit my teeth, holding on as she comes all over me.
"That's right, baby, come on my cock. Come for me." She whimpers, shaking, the muscles of her pussy squeezing me. I force myself to think of something else for a moment until the urge to come passes, glad she already got me off with her mouth so it's easier to hold back.
Finally, she's finished, collapsing forward onto the bed.
"We're not finished yet," I warn her.
She looks up at me through half-lidded eyes. "Oh, please," she whimpers. "I don't think I can take any more."
"I'm gonna give it to you anyway. You can take just one more. My cock needs to be inside you one more time," I say, picking up her legs and placing them against my chest. I gently strum my thumb over her clit, teasing her. "Don't you want it? Don't you want to feel good again?"
"Mmmm. Jax … " That's all the answer I need.
She's torn between pleasure and exhaustion, so I make up her mind for her by plunging into her again. I'm determined to make her come one more time before I do. Taking hold of her legs, I drive myself into her. She wants more, I can tell, moaning again. I grind into her slowly, taking my time, building us both up.
I feel her pushing against me, using her legs against my chest for leverage. I won't let her off that easy. I spread her thighs apart, placing one foot on either side of me. Then I kneel, lifting her hips as I go. Her pussy is open in front of me, my cock still thrusting into her.
"Touch yourself for me," I whisper. "I want to see you get yourself off while I fuck you." She moans, too lost in pleasure to say no. My eyes are glued to her fingers as she first slowly strokes her clit, then speeds up. She uses the other hand to hold the lips apart, giving me an even better look.
"That's right," I growl, thrusting harder now, watching her pleasure herself. "You're so fucking sexy. Make yourself come, baby. One more time." She moans, my words driving her closer and closer. Her fingers are a blur now, flying over her clit. My cock is a blur, too, and I know I'm getting ready to explode.
"Come on me," she gasps, then I realize she's tightening again, her cries getting louder and louder as she climaxes just once more.
From the moment she starts, I let go. I slide out of her and rapidly stroke myself, crying out just before I start spurting over her tits just like she asked. I hear myself roaring, hear her encouraging me to keep going, as my cum splashes onto her.
Then it's over. I fall onto the bed, exhausted. I've been with a lot of women-a lot of women-but this was different. I never felt so compelled to bring a woman so much pleasure. I barely notice when she slips out of bed. I hear the water running in the bathroom and know she's cleaning herself up. Soon she slips back into bed with me, beneath the blankets. I know I ought to keep her from falling asleep with me … but I can't bring myself to say no.
Chapter 12
Christina
I know we shouldn't have. But I'm so glad we did.
I've never felt like this before. I didn't think I was capable of feeling so much pleasure. There were times when I didn't think I could handle any more, but I'm glad he pushed me further. I feel sorry for any man who comes into my life after tonight. They'll never measure up.
We stay in bed together for a little while. I sense hesitation on his part at first, but there's no way I'm going back to that solitary bed and sleeping alone after what just happened. I'm feeling vulnerable, more so than I ever have, and I need a little contact right now. I'm guessing this isn't his usual routine.
It doesn't take long for him to warm up, though. I'm dozing gently, sort of in and out of consciousness, in that beautiful place between sleep and wakefulness. My head is on his shoulder, and I can hear the way his heart beats slow and strong in his chest. Everything about him is strong.
I hear his breathing change, too. It slows, deepens. I glance up at his face without moving my head, wanting to avoid disturbing him. He's so beautiful, if a man can be beautiful. The moonlight against the snow fills the room with an almost supernatural white glow, lighting his face. He's angelic, just like the ink across his chest. Though I don't think he was in an angelic mood when he got that done. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle.
Then I remember something.
"Oh, shit!" He stirs at my voice. "The fire! You lit the fire!"
"Good call." He hurries out of bed, not bothering to put on his boxers, and heads downstairs. I hear him putting out the flames, speaking to Blue in low, soothing tones. Poor dog. We probably scared the hell out of him.
I giggle again, remembering how wild it was. He's officially ruined me for all other men. How can I go back to plain, boring sex again after what just happened? Nothing else will come close, I'm sure.
I look around the room, really seeing it for the first time. The dresser and bed are antiques, I can tell, the curtains that same pretty lacy fabric as the ones in the guest room. I wonder why he still has everything decorated this way. It doesn't seem to suit his personality at all. He's so masculine, hardly able to roll out a basic dough on the counter earlier tonight. This whole "farmhouse shabby chic" aesthetic clashes with what I know about him.
I don't think I would change a thing, though. Maybe get a nicer TV with a better picture. Maybe switch out his old computer with my newer one. The stove and oven are amazing, but the fridge is a little small. Maybe a second one in the garage?
Wait a minute. What the hell am I thinking? I'm going through this in my head as though I plan to move in. This is exactly the sort of complication I don't need in my life right now, damn it. I can't go from one fucked up relationship to another, no matter how good the sex is. And the sex was very, very good.