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His cock bobbed in my face. I was kneeling in that patch of brilliant sunshine. The sun was hot, but cool air moved from the open window, and the combination was a subtle caress, like fluttering strokes made with feathers.
I stroked him, gripped him, lashed him with voluptuous strokes of my tongue. His hands slid into my hair, tightening. His whole body was rigid.
I went at him with everything I had, licking and lapping, stroking and swirling with my hands. Flicking my tongue against the sensitive slit of his cockhead, savoring the slick, salty fluid that dripped from it.
I drew him slowly into my mouth, intensely aroused by every part of the experience. My body was flushed and shivering. I relaxed and took him deeper, despite his size, slowly figuring out the sensual choreography. I kept a steady rhythm, drawing him back into my mouth with every slow stroke, tongue teasing along the way. I could taste his climax building. The taut stiffness, the desperate sounds he made.
His hands tightened in my hair, and he pushed my face away. I wiped my mouth, and looked up into his stark, rigid face. “Something wrong?”
“I need to fuck you,” he said.
A shiver of delight went through me. I stroked his balls with my fingertips, just to savor the pleasure that racked his big body. “Do you have a condom?”
He shook his head. “I do not. I don’t bring women here. Haven’t for years.”
I pondered that potential disaster for a moment, still squeezing and stroking him, and held up my hand. He took it, hoisting me to my feet.
“Well,” I said. “This is the thing. I actually have a contraceptive implant. It dates back from my last relationship, which blew up on me eight months ago. I kept meaning to get it removed, but I’m always so busy, I just put it off. So, ah … I’m covered. And I’ve been tested for everything a couple months ago. I’m all clean.”
His eyes flashed. “Whoa,” he murmured. “I’ve had clear blood tests, too. So if that’s what you want, then hell, yeah. There’s nothing I’d love better.”
I turned, aiming for a hip-swaying sashay toward the bed, but it was all I could do to stay on my feet, I was so wobbly. I started to circle the bed, but stopped short, gazing at that expanse of quilt. A real femme fatale would not waste such an obvious chance to strike a hot pose for him, so I clambered up onto the bed on my hands and knees, arching my back. Sexy, sinuous, that was the vibe. But I didn’t have a chance to let the moment develop, because the effect on him was instantaneous. The bed squeaked and swayed, and there he was—arched over me, his hot body covering my back, his cock swinging and bobbing against my inner thigh.
I tried to turn, but he held me in place, trapped beneath him. My breath came fast and nervous through my open mouth. I’d miscalculated my comfort zone.
Not his fault. I’d presented my ass to him; he could hardly be blamed for taking me up on it. No. I was not going to spoil this, for him or for me. I was not chickening out. I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anything. And I would ... get ... through it.
I braced for it, but there was no invasive shove. Just his enormous warmth poised over me, warming me, waiting. His hot, soft lips caressing my nape, my spine. His hands moved between my legs, stroking my clit. Slow, lazy, circling strokes, petting me expertly until I squirmed against his hand. Delving inside to spread my juice around. Working me, squeezing me, stroking and thrusting … until I collapsed into waves of shuddering pleasure.
When he finally nudged his cock inside me, I was so primed and desperate, I rocked backward to take him in. He gripped my hips with a low, admonishing murmur, kissed my shoulder blades, licked my spine. My shivering inner flesh clenched around his thick shaft. Every part of me that he touched went slick and tingling, melting with yearning. I squirmed against him, clawing my way closer to that shining prize that beckoned in my mind, crying out as he slid so deep inside ...
I disintegrated into wrenching pulsations of pleasure once again.
When I was fully conscious again, his breath was hot and rhythmic against my back. He set his teeth against my shoulder and licked off the sheen of my sweat.
“Ah, God,” he muttered hoarsely. “So good. Do that again. Please.”
“Anytime you want,” I told him shakily. “I can hardly stop it, when you touch me.”
He made a strangled sound, gripped her hips, and thrust harder.
I yielded to the wild, frenetic momentum, clutching the quilt, my face shoved in the pillow. Low cries jerked out of my throat at each slick, driving stroke and swivel of his thick shaft. He was pounding me into a creamy froth, and I didn’t shut down or go cold. My body had resculpted itself to cherish every thick, throbbing inch of him.
After his own pleasure finally jolted through him, we lay together in a dream measured by bursts of birdsong and the flickering shadows of clouds from the window. He was heavy, but the pressure felt so good. I loved the deep, wonderful heat of him. So what if my lungs could only expand to ten percent of their capacity? Air, shmair. Who needed air, after sex like that?
But after a moment, he rolled onto his side, still keeping me held tight and close against him. Still inside.
My phone rang, and I felt his body tense. I leaned down, groped for the phone, and checked the display. Peter again. Hah. Later for him. I dropped it back into my purse, letting it ring on unanswered.
I turned back to him, enjoying his startled expression.
A wondering smile dawned on his face. “Wow,” he said. “That must’ve cost you.”
“I would turn it off completely if it weren’t for my sisters,” I told him. “With everything that’s going on, I don’t want to risk being out of touch with them.”
“Give them my landline number,” he suggested.
“Landline? How quaint and antique,” I murmured. “It really suits your retro analog personality.”