Page 9

9

JOY

Holy shit.

HOLY SHIT.

This wasn’t sex. It couldn’t be. I’d been doing it wrong. With the wrong people.

Because Wes. God. His mouth. His hands. His body. His dick. His dirty talk .

All glorious.

He was just as bossy in bed as out. Actually, he hadn’t gotten in bed yet. He was on his knees on the floor and had given me two orgasms already. That was just with his mouth and tongue. Now he slipped a finger inside me as his tongue did things to my clit I didn’t know was possible.

One finger. Then two. Then three. Deep. Curling. Stretching.

All I could do was lie there and take it.

Because Mr. Bossy said so.

And my pussy LOVED it.

The third orgasm rippled through me, making me sweaty and wilted.

But Wes wasn’t done. That was only the first part of what he’d said he had planned.

Next up… railing.

He picked me up as if I weighed no more than a feather–and wasn’t the big girl I’d often been called–and settled me, so my head was on the pillows.

Now… finally, he climbed over me.

“Hands on the headboard.” He took one of my wrists in his and raised it overhead. His touch was gentle, even though the reason for me gripping the wooden slats was because he wasn’t planning on being gentle for long.

I raised my other arm and wrapped my fingers around the solid wood.

Then he sat back on his heels between my spread thighs and stroked himself. As if he was taunting me. Next up, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. “I’m gonna wear protection for you, honey, but I want you to know I’m clean.”

“I’m on the pill,” I told him.

He looked to me for a moment as if he was considering. Only a moment because he tossed the condom over his shoulder, and it hit the wall. “In that case, I’m going bareback.”

I smiled. This guy was all cowboy, and I freaking loved it.

“You ready for this?”

I nodded. “Yes. Please. I need it.”

“That’s right, you do.”

He set a hand by my head, moved over me, and nudged my entrance.

“Take me like a good girl.”

Then he filled me. Not slowly, but in one hard thrust.

“Wes!” I cried as my back arched. His gaze was on mine.

Watching. Holding still.

I had to squirm to adjust, my inner walls rippling to accommodate. He was big. Deep. He’d been right; if he hadn’t prepped me with those orgasms and the fingering, I might’ve been wet, but it would have been too much.

He knew. He knew.

Now? It was a lot, but it was amazing. Especially when he slowly pulled back, then thrust deep again.

Once. Then again. Then again, until it was a frantic pace. Our bodies slapped together. Our breaths mingled. I held tight to the headboard to keep from moving.

This was what I needed to get the storm out of my chest. This was being fucked.

“Holy shit.”

Then he stopped, buried deep.

I had a second to wonder why, but then he rolled us, so I was on top. Now he was propped against the headboard, mostly sitting up. I was in the crook between his chest and his bent knees.

“Oh,” I said, as his dick went even deeper inside me. I set my hands on his chest then leaned in and kissed him.

I couldn’t hold still. I had to move. I squirmed as our tongues tangled, but when I tried to lift up, I had to sit back.

His hands went to my hips, and he helped me set a rhythm. Up, down, circle. My clit got rubbed against his base, and I was close again.

Wes knew and began to lift me and drop me. His hips rocked up to meet me.

“That’s it. Fuck yourself on my dick. Every inch, honey, you’re getting every inch. It’s all for you.”

My breasts bounced. My head fell back. I just felt as we fucked.

Sweaty. Dirty.

Perfect.

When I came again, I felt myself get wetter. I cried out and kept moving to follow the pleasure. Wes' grip tightened, and he thrust deep. Held and growled.

Literally growled. I felt the rumble of it beneath my hands on his chest.

I felt how his dick thickened just before the hot spurts of his cum filled me.

I slumped onto him, and he wrapped his arms around me. I could feel his heart beating. Feel his heat. His strength.

The sounds of the storm came back to me. The howling wind. The rain. A distant roll of thunder.

But the storm was no longer inside me.

I didn’t feel the tears clogging my throat anymore. Or the pressure of trapped fight or flight urges flapping like birds in my chest.

Wes slumped down, so we were settled in bed and threw the covers over us. We were still connected as he kissed the top of my head.

“Better?”

“Much,” I murmured.

“I made hot cocoa when you were in the shower if you still want it.”

My eyes were already closed. “No, I’m good.”

Here in Wes' arms, in his bed, I felt safe.

I felt… railed. I was definitely going to be walking funny tomorrow.

I smiled as I drifted into dreamland.