Page 95 of The Wrong Game

We both moaned when my tip lined up with her entrance, and Gemma arched her back more, allowing me entry. Just the tip of me penetrated her first, a gasp escaping between her lips at the feel of me stretching her open. When I flexed my hips, I filled her slowly, and every inch seemed to go on for miles until I was all the way inside her, balls deep, hitting her in a way I couldn’t when she rode me last week.

My hands gripped her hips, and when I withdrew, filling her again as slowly as I could manage, Gemma let out a loud, passionate cry.

“It’s so deep,” she breathed, and I paused, not wanting to hurt her. But she reached back, grabbing my thigh and pulling me toward her for more.

I started slow, picking up the pace the wetter she got, the more she stretched. Every thrust of my hips sent the bottom of that skirt bouncing, the flaps of it hitting my hands that wrapped around her small frame under the hem. It was criminal, the way her ass looked peeking out from the bottom of that fabric, and I had to look away and up at the ceiling to stop myself from coming too fast.

“You feel so fucking good,” I rasped, slowing my pace. Between how loud she was moaning, the outfit, and the position, I was going to come any second if I didn’t rein it in.

But Gemma was hell bent on making it nearly impossible for me. She widened her legs, knees stretching out as one hand slipped from where she held the back of the couch to between her thighs, instead. I couldn’t see what was happening under that skirt, but judging by the way her pussy throbbed, gripping me like a fucking firm handshake, I had a pretty good idea.

“Are you playing with your pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” she breathed, moaning and arching her back more.

“Are you going to come for me?”

“God, yes,” she moaned again, and she picked up speed, her hand working fast and merciless between her legs.

I thrust my hips quicker to match her pace, bending forward and slipping one hand beneath the fabric of her cheerleading top. Her nipples were hard and peaked, and I rolled the right one between my fingers, plucking it with just enough force to have her gasping for her next breath.

That was all it took.

She squeezed around me, body shaking as she came, her hand still working her clit under that skirt. I slowed my thrusts, pushing deeper to help her ride that orgasm as long as she could. And just hearing the way she moaned, my name rolling off her lips like I’d delivered her, it was enough to get me there with her.

I always thought coming together was a fictional phenomenon, something they romanticized in movies and books. It’d always been my job to get the woman there first, and that was my only focus. I couldn’t eventhinkabout my own release until she’d already come.

But with Gemma in that fucking skirt, I couldn’t wait a single second longer.

As soon as I knew she was climaxing, I reached up, grabbing both of her pigtails and tugging back with a firm grip. Her moans grew louder when I had that hair wrapped around my fists, and I pounded into her harder, my own release pulsing out after just three hard pumps.

“Fuck,” I groaned, dragging out the word like it was a song. Gemma cried out even louder, and I pulled her into me, holding still inside her as I came, cock throbbing, her pussy still so tight it almost hurt.

It was fast. It was porn-like and cheesy and like every high school boy’s fantasy.

And it was the best fucking sex I’d ever had.

I withdrew slowly and carefully, untwisting Gemma’s hair from around my hands before I plopped down on the couch next to her, panting, the condom still on.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, and Gemma laughed, crawling into my lap and straddling me. She kissed up and down my neck in quick little pecks before she found my lips, and I held her there, deepening the kiss until our breaths were synced.

“I have to check this off,” she said, wiggling out of my grip.

I was too weak to hold her there, though I tried. “Right now?”

“Right now.” She opened her birthday box again, pulling out the notebook labeledLISTSand scrawling a slow, purposeful checkmark next to what I’d written with her new pen.

I swore she lit up in a way I’d never seen before, checking off that damn list like it was her life’s purpose.

And I loved watching her little ass shake under that skirt while she did it.

“I was never into cheerleaders, but I think you just changed my mind,” I said, still catching my breath as she climbed back into my lap.

“Right,” she deadpanned. “I’m sure you played football your entire life and never once cared about the cheerleaders on the sideline.”

“I mean, I’m not saying I didn’tseethem there.”

“Uh-huh.” Gemma smirked, cuddling into me. “That was fun,” she said after a moment. “Todaywas fun.”