Page 56 of Wicked Pickle

I’m nearly undone, those bright eyes lifting to me, her hair brushing her collarbone, the light tipping her nipples. My cock leaps, brushing against her chin.

Her gaze moves down my body, chest, belly, then my dick, already shiny with pre-cum. “I’m going to lick that,” she says.

“It’s all yours.”

Her small pink mouth closes in over the head of my shaft, and fuck, something about her hesitation after that utter undoing a few moments ago is extraordinarily hot. I grasp the back of her head as she takes more in, her tongue swirling.

Her entire body shifts with each move up and down. I watch her ass sway, her little feet crossing over each other. I have the urge to sketch her like this. It’s the fall of her hair, the slope of her back, her perfect skin.

She grasps the base of my cock as she keeps going, and I’m a rock of control, refusing to give in too fast, wanting to make her work, insisting that this moment go on as long as I want it to.

She keeps going for a while, then shifts around to sit in front of me, legs dangling off the bed between mine. She presses her tits together and captures my dick between them.

Fuuuuck.

I hold her shoulders, letting the softness surround me. It’s like fucking a cloud. But when I look down, it’s hot as hell, those nipples aiming up, my cock disappearing.

I push her back on the bed, rolling the condom on with a speed that might be a personal record.

Her hair fans out over the bed, bright from the lamp.

I prop myself over her. “You’re a fucking goddess.”

Her lips twitch as if she’s about to argue, but I kiss that away. I use a knee to spread her legs and slide into her like I’m falling from a cliff.

Maybe I am. I’m lightheaded with her beneath me, my lips close to her mouth, her breasts crushed beneath my chest.

I want to go slow, take her in, feel this cascade of emotions coming at me like falling stars.

But the feelings are too much, like being a kid, like wanting someone to kiss your scraped knee. I shove that aside and pound into her instead, getting lost in the friction between our bodies, the tightening in my groin.

She breathes heavily, her nipples tight. I want her to come again, to writhe for me, to scream. I reach between us to finger her, noting when her body jolts and hitting that spot again and again.

Her voice rises, keening and sharp. She doesn’t say my name now, and I don’t need her to. I just want to rock into her knowing she’s mine at this moment. She’ll remember me. She’ll long for this. I’ll have marked her.

Her body quivers beneath my touch, and I know her orgasm is coming. The tension builds, and my face feels feverish. Everything in me is taut and expectant, waiting, hovering.

Then Symphony squeezes down on me with a guttural cry. My body unleashes, pulsing with her, my vision going dark for a second.

She holds onto me, and I clutch at her, taking this cosmic ride. We breathe against each other, our bodies heaving.

Then she laughs. “Jesus, Diesel. You’re something.”

We swing sideways, still connected, and she throws a leg over me. “Give me a second before you abandon me for the next thing.”

I don’t know what she means, but I let her lie half across my chest, her hair spilling over my shoulder.

“Just be here for a minute,” she says.

“Okay.” I wrap my arm around her waist.

She lies there, and I watch her chest go up and down, gradually slowing.

It’s comfortable. She’s soft and real.

And not in my sketches or the pearl comb and torn panties I should have tossed but instead stuffed into a drawer.

But here.