She’s enjoying this in a way I’ve never seen before, arching her back as she experiences the fullness of me. “Mmmhhhhmmm,” she hums in my ear.
She moves around, her hips intoxicating in their slow motion. She’s taking her time, and God, it’s a sight to see.
Her tits are the perfect size for my hands. I massage them softly, pulling her hard nipple into my mouth as I feel her juice pour out from her. My cock is fucking on fire as she teases me, unknowingly, with each movement she makes against my groin.
Her body moves faster as she find a rhythm that hits her g-spot, because then it’s like her faucet is turned on. I smack her ass, just completely taken away with how she pivots her body so naturally, moving herself deeper and deeper with me in her. Her moans increase, getting louder as she nears climax.
“Oh, yeah, JoJo, that feels so fucking good,” I tell her, thrusting against her as she grabs my neck highly, freezing in mid-motion as an orgasm washes over her, her voice a deep moan, completely harmonizing with her body. She stills, and I pause too, wanting her to enjoy every moment of her release.
When she closes her eyes, I move, knowing she’ll get another wave as I thrust into her again, again, again. I come, squeezing her ass as I do.
She collapses against my chest, and I hold her there, trying to catch my breath. I swear I just had the best sex of my life, and half of that pleasure came from watching JoJo get off. She was like a mermaid, moving gracefully, her long red hair dripping all over us as we fucked. Her body moving so effortlessly, it was as if she were swimming.
JoJo
My body shakes in a perfect, oh my God, was that even real? sort of way. I get why McQueen has the reputation he has. Because whatever he just did to me was unreal. Beyond what I imagined sex could be. And I see how once would never be enough.
Although, for me, it has to be. Because my family means everything to me ... and my father is arranging my marriage.
I can’t think about that right now. Right now, McQueen is still inside of me.
“That was unreal, JoJo,” he says, as I lift myself up from his rock-hard chest, chiseled with so many muscles it makes me weak in the knees ... or actually, let’s be honest, wet between my legs.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Deflecting keeps my head in check. I know I’m not special to McQueen; I’m a fling. But he will always be special to me ... because I gave my virginity to him.
“I don’t. Not even close. You were ... different. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Don’t try. I like thinking I was good at this,” I say, smiling. I lift myself off him and fall beside him on the couch.
I look at his hardness, where the condom is still rolled on. My heart stops for a moment as I see red blood on the latex.
His eyes follow mine, and I see a flash of concern across his eyes.
“Are you on your ... period?” he asks.
I know I’m not, not for a few weeks. That blood is the result of something else. The thing I didn’t really want to tell him, because I’m guessing he’ll feel bad for taking my virginity. And right now I want him to remember this as being something very good.
But I also don’t want to lie about my cycle because that feels weird, feels immature, even if it would get me off the hook. We just shared something intimate, and even if it was a no strings hook-up it was still something meaningful to me.
I can’t lie to McQueen. I don’t want to.
“I’m for sure not on my period.”
“Then ... are you okay?” he asks, not putting it together.
“I’m okay, it was just....” I try to tell him, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Being a fair-skinned redhead has never worked to my favor. My true emotions are always instantly on display.
It’s as if something dawns on him. His eyebrows lift, his mouth opens lightly.
I’m glad we aren’t face to face. I don’t know why my sex-status feels embarrassing ... but it just makes it more awkward.
“JoJo, are you a virgin?”
The straightforwardness of his question causes me to snort reflexively. “I was.”
“Holy shit balls.” He stands, pulls off the condom, tosses it in the trash.
I look away, not knowing what might come next. Is he pissed at me for not telling him first? Is he grossed out by the blood?
He wraps a towel around his waist, and then hands one to me. I tuck it around myself quickly, feeling exposed. Well, my one-afternoon-stand was hot as hell until my virginal status messed it up.
But then he sits back down on the couch, and takes my hands in his, lacing my fingers in his so naturally, as if knowing this simple choice would instantly put me at ease. Which I’m sure he does know; he’s the epitome of a player.