Page 18 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)
His hand finds a path between our bodies, pressing against the driving crush of us.
He finds my clit and pinches lightly while he drags his cock slowly out and fills me inch by inch.
That slow feed sparks a picture in my mind of me on all fours, taking him from behind, or me on my back, him kneeling over me and feeding it to me.
I get another of his mouth latched over that spot his fingers are pinching.
I like to go about as depraved as possible, even if I’d never do it, because the fantasy is fun and the darker it is, the more entertained and turned on I am.
I imagine him coming in me like he promised, then getting down between my legs, throwing them over his shoulders, and pinning me against the wall while he feasts, cleaning me up, swallowing down his own seed.
The first tremor hits like that sudden bolt of lightning split the sky earlier. “Oh! Oh my god, Zep. Please don’t stop.”
“Yeah? Tell me how good it feels. I want to hear what I do to you.” He moves his hand down to my throat, lightly collaring me without pressing forward.
“I love taking your cock. It’s so big that it hurts.
It’s going to hurt after. I want to feel like I’ve been torn apart.
I want to feel your cock kicking and throbbing as you come inside of me.
I want you to keep me stuffed full. I want you to stay inside of me until you can’t anymore.
I want you later. I want you in my mouth.
In my ass. Back in my pussy, using me until I can’t walk because it hurts so much from being used. ”
It’s too much. I should have filtered a little.
Zeppelin curses, hangs his head low, and pushes himself inside of me to the hilt.
I do feel his cock kick. I feel every single hot jet as he comes inside of me.
He has the presence of mind even while he’s in the throes of his climax, to mash my clit between his knuckles unmercifully.
The dirty talk, all the stimulation, having him come inside of me, it all gets me there.
That stimulation is all I can handle before I lose myself to a vortex of pleasure.
It crashes over me harder than any storm could hit this house.
I’m demolished and rebuilt, my body shuddering between the wall and Zeppelin, jerking with each spasm that hits.
I throw my arms around his neck, holding tight to him.
I know I’m probably one of the odd ones out, but I’ve never particularly enjoyed intimacy.
I cling to Zeppelin, craving that closeness, his smell, the rumbling quaking of the aftershocks of his climax rolling through me.
I tuck my face into the crook of his neck and inhale him, over and over again, until the world calms and some semblance of rational thought comes back to me.
I stroke his damp hair and then his face, cupping his rough cheeks between my palms, smoothing my hands over his beard.
I don’t know if it’s just my raging hormones, but I’m stunned by how much I need him and how much closer I want to be. I want to disappear inside of him.
When he pulls away just enough for me to get my hand between us, I set it right over his racing heart. “You were going to stay overnight to help me with the house. Will you still stay? I don’t mean on the couch either.”
That couch is way too small even for me. I know he’d insist that he takes it. I don’t have a guestroom set up yet. My parents’ truck could only fit so much furniture. It was a mountain already. I had to save something for the next trip.
“Pretty hard to deny you anything when I’m still inside of you.” He goes for humor and lets it settle.
I find myself smiling, even if that’s crude. “I could ask you again after you’re back to being yourself.”
“I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to go back to that.” The statement drops between us like dust suspended in the air on a gravel road after a car blasts down it. It’s not something he meant to say.
“Me neither.” I owe the truth to him, to match his truth. “Usually- I- I do mind sleeping side by side with someone, but if it was you, I don’t think it would be that bad.”
“It would be terrible. I snore. I fart. I steal blankets.”
“Good thing I’m a sound sleeper, have a brother who thinks nothing is funnier than gas, and have extra quilts.”
“Ginny.”
“Zeppelin.” I eye him up, refusing to back down. It’s an odd conversation. Is this afterglow? “You’re staying. We’ll have tea and we’ll read something, and we’ll go to bed. If the storm has passed, but we’ve been down here a while, so…”
“Read? I don’t read.”
We’ve had this discussion already. “I can read. You can listen. And then we’ll sleep in the bed together, on our own sides, flatulence, extra blankets, snoring and all. I get wicked morning sickness, sometimes at all hours of the night, so I might barf on you. That would make us even.”
“Hmfph.” He tilts his head. “You’re so… remarkably odd. Do you realize that?”
I laugh. He’s right. It’s odd that we’re having this conversation right now, while he’s still freaking inside of me. “You sound like an old British college professor.”
“Never. I leave the professoring to Raiden’s wife. She’s really good at it. You know. From what I’ve heard.”
“I’m not sure professoring is a verb, but I’ll let you have it.”
He’s so close that all he has to do is turn his face into my hair to inhale the scent.
I pull up my dress, oddly charmed and slightly alarmed at the butterfly sensation that’s only picked up after I’ve been well and thoroughly banged, and up against a wall at that.
I’m the one who pulls away, carefully detaching, tugging down my dress and doing minor adjustments to my bra.
By the time I snatch up my panties and wad them up into my fist, Zeppelin has his jeans done back up.
If I wasn’t so overheated and sore in other places, it would be like nothing happened at all.
But it did.
And I invited that thing, that very man, to share my bed. Platonically. Because the couch would be hellish and no one would be able to do any work tomorrow and it would be a complete waste of a day after he drove all this way. I’m much too practical to let it happen.
That’s all it is.
And while this isn’t a regret, it’s definitely a one-off that I think we’ll both agree was beautiful and satisfying, but shouldn’t happen again.