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The hairs at the backs of my thighs stand to attention before the sensation shuttles toward my core. That’s when it arcs out like a rainbow and I’m the pot of gold. It hits every single erogenous zone in my possession until I’m gasping for air, blinded, unable to hear, making the earlier silence all the noisier. My skin’s on fire, electricity shattering my nervous system.
It’s pleasure, but it’s pain.
It’s too good, but it’s so bad.
It’s heaven, but it’s hell.
A study in contrasts.
A study in Cody.
And all through it, he doesn’t let up. His fingers keep on rubbing that part of me and his thumb continues stroking my clit.
But it’s the:
“Oh, fuck, yeah, Christy. Give it to me. I want it fucking all.”
And the:
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. God, next time, I want to watch your eyes as you explode for me.”
Next time?!
While I’m feeling like I scored a winning goal in the Stanley Cup final, he’s rasping:
“I’m not going to stop until you’re so fucking addicted to this pleasure that you never let me go.”
Never let him go?
I’m an octopus. Watch me go Squidward on him as if I have access to superglue.
“You’re going to lock your eyes on mine so I can see you fall and fall and fall. I’m going to make you pussy drunk and then cock drunk, and you’re never going to want to?—”
The only thing that could make this exquisite agony better?
His release.
Those insane words he spoke work the same wild magic on him as they do me.
When I feel him jerk against me, his deep groan settling in my core for a final matinee as he pinches my uber-sensitive clit, I shatter. AGAIN!
This time, I scream. It’s Wagner-esque. An aria?—
Hell, no. It’s a full opera.
This is nothing like my earlier release and so much better.
Yet worse.
Because I’m empty.
He’s not inside me.
I want his cum.
Oh, jeez. Every ounce of cream-pie porn I’ve ever watched filters through my mind, making me think of him doing that to me.
Then, fuck, getting down on his knees and cleaning me up.