Sustained(49)

And then we’re at it again. This time I’m on the bed, legs stretched out straight, leaning back on my elbows, watching with rapt attention as Chelsea rides my cock with total abandon. Her knees fall on either side of my waist; her pelvis rocks forward and back with the rhythm of an exotic dancer. The moonlight glowing in the window behind her casts her features in shadow, but her silhouette is nothing short of magnificent. Her hair wild, head thrown back, tits bouncing, lips parted and gasping.

I could stay just like this . . . I could watch her forever.

“Oh god . . . oh god . . . ,” she pants, hips moving faster.

I curse, trying so hard not to thrust. Because I’m so deep—buried from base to tip in snug, hot cunt—and it feels incredible. I don’t want it to end yet.

I cup her breasts, rolling both nipples between my thumb and forefinger. Pinching until she moans loud and long. It makes her hips sway harder, grinding down on me now in tight circles. And her moan sounded so sweet, I have to take her nipple in my mouth. Dragging my tongue around the velvet bud, flicking and teasing. Chelsea’s hands grip my hair, holding me there, as I suction with my lips, then move up and around the soft mounds, sucking at the flesh, leaving a scattering of pink abrasions she’ll feel tomorrow.

Her hands flatten on my shoulder blades, keeping me close.

“Jake . . . ,” she keens, just to say my name, I think.

“That’s it, Chelsea.” My voice is both reassuring and demanding. An order and a prayer. And I can actually feel her get wetter, tighter around me. Fucking A—nothing has ever felt this good. “Come on, baby. Ride me, make yourself come. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

She whimpers and nods, her head jerking.

“Let me feel it. It’s gonna feel so good. Get there, Chelsea.”

And I can’t not go with her.

I grab her hips in both hands and push up into her, my pelvis rubbing right against the spot she needs. Her hips push down while I thrust. And with my mouth open, teeth pressing into the skin of her collarbone, she stiffens and comes with the sexiest moan that seems to go on forever.

I let go with a long, broken groan.

For several seconds neither of us move. We’re a perfect tangled mess of sweaty skin, harsh breaths, and languid limbs. My orgasm was so strong, I’m still twitching inside her as she leans forward, pushing me onto my back.

Chelsea lays her head over my heart, laughing against my chest, her soft hair falling around my neck.

And I blink at the ceiling, seeing stars. “Holy fuck.”

Her back shudders with a giggle. “It was kind of a religious experience, wasn’t it?” I feel her lips on my skin, worshipping the inked flesh. “Tell me about your tattoos.” She kisses the one just below my collarbone—a string of numbers and letters.

I run my hand down her hair. “That’s the docket number from my case with the Judge.”

“And this one?” I don’t have to look—I feel her lips move over the one that’s lower, stretching from my pec to my shoulder. It’s an angel, a perpetual child with a smirking face and crooked halo.

“That’s for Benny. A kid I knew when I was twelve. He got mugged one night walking home. They hit him with a metal pipe—cracked his head. He died.”

Below the angel is a cursive G—she places a soft kiss beside it. “This is for your mom?”

I nod. Chelsea brushes her lips against the others—the scales of justice I got after law school, the dragon and roses I got after I lost my virginity, the deep-rooted tree I got in honor of the Judge, and about a dozen more.

She moves lower down to the crook of my elbow, the underside of my forearm. It tickles when she kisses it. “And this?”

It’s a spiral tribal design that winds around my arm—sharp swirls with jagged edges. I grin. “I just thought that one looked cool.”

I feel my dick softening inside her, but I have no desire to move. And Chelsea must feel the same, because she rubs her cheek across my pec, resting above my nipple. And her breath turns slow and even, exhaustion taking hold of us both, as as we slip into well-earned oblivion.

• • •

Sometime later, I become aware that her weight is missing, the heat from her lush, lithe body is absent. And there’s a strange dry, scratching sound that makes me think Cousin It tracked us down and is trying to push open the door with his rough paw. I stretch out my left hand, searching, but there’s only empty space beside me. I roll to my side and open my eyes.

Chelsea is in the brown cushioned chair by the window, legs tucked under her, a glow of moonlight behind her. She’s wearing my gray button-down shirt—and it’s never looked better. She’s watching me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her hands busy in her lap.