But I don’t have time to get her clothes off. My body is demanding relief… the type that I can only get from Savannah… at this very moment.
Not a moment longer.
I pick her up by the hips, lifting her off the floor, and dip my knees. My cock, which is hard as a rock and tilted upward, gets the perfect angle and I push in against her, past the silky skin of her thighs, and right to her wetness.
I hit the mark on the first try, feeling her slick warmth open up to me.
Lowering her back to the ground, I swiftly pump my hips up, slamming into her in one hard move, causing her to scream out.
Her voice is hoarse and raw. I thought for a minute I hurt her, were it not for the soft, “Yes,” she lets out at the end. But she proves to me she’s okay… more than… when she gyrates her hips, causing her internal muscles to massage my dick in an almost excruciatingly sensual way.
She is exquisite.
Beyond.
I can’t control myself, having never felt this burning need to push myself beyond all barriers. I pull back and slam back in, relishing in her cries as the kitchen table scoots forward a few inches. I do it again, and again, vaguely noting the way her fingernails scrabble against the wood of the table as she tries to claw at something.
My moans turn into grunts, my ass muscles contracting hard on every thrust into her. My fingers dig into her hips, and she cries out the sweetest words ever.
“More.”
“Oh, God, Sweet… what are you doing to me?” I ask as I slam into her over and over again.
Her orgasm hits her fast and hard. I’m unprepared when her hands unclench, her palms lie flat on the table, and she pushes her chest up. Arching her back deeply, she throws her head back and groans as I feel her body stiffen and her pussy clamp down hard on my cock.
And fuck… then I’m coming, so hard… so long.
I push into her one last time, grit my teeth, and unload every bit of depravity into her body, and then I come some more.
My body shudders from head to foot, and another wave of pleasure hits me as I continue to jet into her.
Savannah slumps to the table, and I realize my knees are shaking. I unclench my death grip from her hips, wincing when I see the red marks I’ve left behind. I bend over her, pressing against her body, and rest my chin on the back of her head.
We lay like that for what seems an eternity, our mutual breaths that were raging just a moment ago now starting to calm.
Lifting my head up, I kiss her on the back of the head, and then nuzzle into the hair at the back of her neck. “You okay?”
“Mmmm. Hmmm,” she moans softly. I can’t see it, but I can hear the smile on her face.
“Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?” I ask her.
“Mmmm. Hmmm,” she responds, and I smile back.
What in the hell am I doing? Agreeing to go out to dinner with Gavin?
Earlier today—in his house—the way he took me.
That was it. It was supposed to be done, over. My itch scratched, his itch scratched. I could show him that I was so much more than what he thought and perhaps by doing so, I could prove to myself I had more grit than he gave me credit for.
What I didn’t count on was all of these emotions to swell through me. From the moment I told him I wanted him to fuck me—and yes, I’m still blushing red over that—to this moment, now, that I stand before my mirror, checking my hair and makeup before Gavin arrives to pick me up, I’ve been inundated with fears, insecurities, and doubts. What I did… with him… was absolutely not me.
I’m not that type of girl.
Never have been.
But I can’t deny that experience with Gavin was singularly the most thrilling thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I felt free, beautiful, desired, and sexy. I felt like I held power, even as I was slammed with apprehension when I gave him the go-ahead. It was scintillatingly delicious, and even as I sit here and tell myself that I’m not that type of woman… I want to do it again.
When Gavin finally lifted off my body, pulled away… pulled out, I felt loneliness. Then I felt the product of his desire sliding down my legs, and I was mortified and terrified that we had unprotected sex. I couldn’t believe that I never gave it a single thought. Not once during the entire time he was making love to… no, fucking me. I didn’t care. I kind of still don’t care, because had he taken the time to stop… put on a condom, the moment probably would have been broken. It would have been like a raging river slamming against a dam, and we would have most likely stopped once we regained our senses.
The fear of not feeling Gavin—of not giving into those desires and lust—outweighs my fear over having unprotected sex, and I want to bang my head against the sink for ever being so foolish. So stupid.