Page 71 of Puck
His grip on my hips was bruising, and I loved the pain of it, reminding me of his strength as he shoved me onto his cock. “Cole, oh my god, holy shit—Cole, Cole . . .”
I didn’t need to touch myself to finish coming, because his cock did all the work, sliding against me just right, smashing into me, gliding against my G-spot so I broke apart all over again. I clung to him, my hands sliding over his scalp, my arms under his head, my lips stuttering over his mouth, our breathing matched in ragged gasps.
He came, he unleashed himself with a guttural roar, and I was shattering and drowning and crying because he was chanting my name, my nickname, the nickname that no one had called me in twelve years. He came and he chantedCole Cole Colea thousand times as he thrust into me, fucking me through our orgasm.
Finally, I couldn’t move anymore. I collapsed on him, my cheek on his chest, my heart over his heart. I could hear our heartbeats hammering . . .thumpthumpthumpthumpjackrabbit fast, his breath heaving, sweat slicking his skin, mingling with my own sweat, smearing together.
11: Don’t Say It
I’d never crashedafter sex. Like, I made her pass out, as promised, but I’d never been brought to that point myself. Yet Colbie managed it. I came, and I felt her pussy clamp down around my cock as I came harder than I’d ever come in my life, and then Colbie collapsed on me, and her weight was like a blanket warming me, her hair tickling my nose, her scent in my nostrils, my cock stiff and throbbing and twitching inside her, her pussy clamping spastically. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Moving never entered my mind. I wrapped my arms around her, felt her fingers tighten into a knot on my chest under her chin, and my eyes fluttered and I just gave in.
And when I came to an unknown amount of time later, Colbie was still on top of me, but I felt wet warmth where her cheek was.
“You’re crying,” I murmured.
She nodded. “My sister, Danielle . . . she was the only person who’d ever called me Cole before, and when she died, I thought that nickname had died with her. I loved it when she called me that. It was just our thing, and I . . . I don’t know. I just loved it.”
“Oh god, Colbie, I’m so sorry, I had no idea—”
She lifted up, straddling me, and pressed her fingers over her lips. “Don’t. Not all sadness and pain is . . . bad. Yes, I miss her. Yes, there was pain when you called me that. But it also felt . . .right. . . to hear you call me that. I’m not going to avoid it just because it still hurts a little. I want you to call me that.”
She carefully slid off me, reaching between us to hold the condom in place as I flopped out of her. Clear of me, she glanced at my cock, and at the tip of the condom, drooping heavily with my come. “You came alot,” she said with a smirk.
“You do that to me.”
“And you came a lot on the plane, too.”
“You make me crazy, Colbie. I feel like a fucking teenager around you.”
“With a teenager’s refractory period?” she asked, sounding eager and hopeful.
I laughed. “Pretty damn close,” I said.
She leaned over me, her soft, warm breasts flattened on my chest. “Go take that off and come back.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, sliding off the bed. Like she had earlier, when I hit the floor, I wobbled, my legs shaky. “See what you do to me, hot stuff? You fucked me so good I can’t walk.”
“Get back here and I’ll do it again. Except better.”
I felt my heart flipping in my chest. Legit, how could sex get any better? More to the point, why on earth would I ever leave this room? I disposed of the condom and returned to the bed, and Colbie’s gaze was locked on my cock the whole time, watching it bounce and jiggle and sway as I walked toward her.
“My turn,” she said, hopping off the bed.
And you bet your ass I watched that perfect heart-shaped ass of hers as she left. She closed the door and came back out a minute or so later, and she’d teased her hair out. Posing in the doorway, she leaned against it, popping a hip out, one foot crossed over the other.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her. “Colbie, for real, do you have any goddamn idea how perfect you are?”
Flawless creamy skin, tight, high, full breasts, just wide enough hips, a perfect ass, long, thick, strong legs, hair that glowed reddish brown in the low lights of the room, an expressive mouth with plump kissable lips, eyes that shone like diamonds, storm gray and roiling with emotion she didn’t bother hiding. No more poker face. She let me see exactly what she was feeling: she was nervous, letting me stare at her like this, nervous to come back and do this again with me, no longer in the heat of a moment but going in sober and knowing it wasn’t just sex but something more, and she was also flush with need, desire raging in her eyes, in the way she pressed her thighs together, one crossed over the other to almost hide the blossom of her pussy.
“Take a shower with me,” she murmured. “I wanna play with you in the water.”
“I told you what I want to do to you in the shower.”
She twisted in place and bent to present me her ass. “Why do you think I’m suggesting it?” she asked, palming her ass cheeks in a teasing bounce.
She swayed back into the bathroom, reached into the stall and turned on the shower, tested the temperature, and then stood waiting for me. I didn’t keep her waiting long. Fuck no. I wanted to run in there and fall to my knees in worship, but I didn’t want to seem as desperate as I was—and then I thoughtfuck that, yes, I did want her to know exactly how I felt. So I may not have run, but I moved at what I might call an aggressive pace. I pushed her backward into the shower—which was a luxurious affair, of course, a palace of marble, with benches lining two walls, multiple rainfall shower heads with plenty of pressure, all the gels and conditioners and shampoos and soaps one could want.
And yes, I fell to my knees, and I worshipped her body as the hot water soaked her, dampening her hair and running down her body. I kissed her legs, and her hips, and her stomach, and her breasts; I kissed her waist and her sides and the backs of her thighs, and I kissed the taut, round bubbles of her beautiful ass cheeks, and her spine, and the back of her neck. I grabbed a bottle of shower gel and squirted it onto her breasts and into my hands, and I slathered her with it, roaming her incredible body with my hands until she was white with lather, cleaning every inch of her as thoroughly as I could, and then she twisted in the spray to wash it away. Standing with her, I twisted her in place to face the wall, guided her hands to the wall, and she grinned eagerly at me over her shoulder as I sank to my knees behind her. I took the shower gel once more, squirted some into my palm slathered it onto her ass. Pulled apart those firm globes to bare the sweet, tight, little rosebud of her asshole. Worked the soap over it, scrubbing gently, and then more firmly, watching her reactions as I touched her. She was watching over her shoulder, biting her lower lip in anticipation. I reached out blindly and found the detachable handheld wand, using it to rinse the soap away. And then I touched my mouth to her skin, kissing in circles, random patterns, edging closer and closer. She hummed nervously as I finally touched my tongue to her, and then, when I began to flit my tongue in circles, she whimpered in surprise.