His chest heaves as our bodies cleave, the connection point directly at my core, rubbing against his cock.
I can feel it now. Hard and thick against me. And I’m . . . wet and sopping already.
His head falls back against the couch, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. Because I’m rocking my rips into his, slowly but surely, rubbing his cock against my covered clit, little pulses of pleasure shooting through me.
“Look at me,” I say as I continue to rock.
I pull my sweater hem upward and over my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra, so I’m exposed to him.
The look in his eye is almost deadly. Or maybe like he’s going to die. I can’t quite tell.
“Touch them . . .” I say, breathless. “Please. I need to feel your hands on me.”
His mouth closes, the flick in his jaw returning. Then his fingers creep up over the waist of my jeans. They hover there, spread right at my belly button. I buck harder against him, and his body jolts, his fingers slipping upward. I’m pushing myself upstream, getting close to something.
An orgasm? From this?
I’ve never had an orgasm with another person before. Let alone from dry humping.
But the body . . . and the mind . . . want what they want. Little moans escape my throat involuntarily. I’m mewling like a cat.
“Mmm . . . mmmm . . . mmm . . .” I lick my lips. “Please . . .” I whisper.
“Please what?” His voice is hoarse.
I swallow hard, my eyes shut. “If you touch them, I think I’ll come.”
“Jules . . .” His fingertips are inching up my flat belly. Halfway there and then they stall. “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
He bucks hard against me, and a burst of pleasure propels me forward.
“Gah . . .” An animalistic sound comes out of me. “It’s not right for you to make me come?”
“No . . . it’s . . . not . . . that . . .” He winces as his mouth tightens, bucking his hips against me again. “Never . . . that . . .”
“Then . . . what?” It’s almost like we’re fucking. Except for the very most important parts.
We’re in a simulated sex sequence. But it doesn’t feel simulated to me. It feels practically like the real thing.
It makes me want the real thing.
“It’s me.” One more buck of his hips, one more roll of mine, meeting somewhere in the sweet, sensual middle. “Agh,” he growls.
He drops his hands, letting them fall to his side. His head falls back, and his hips still.
I rub frantically against him.
“No . . . no . . . I’m so close . . .” I whisper.
He brings his hands to my upper arms, slowing my rocking until I still as well. “That’s enough, Jules.”
“Why?” I whine.
“Because I don’t know what will happen if we go any further. I’ve never . . . I’ve never done any of this with anyone in so long. Not like this.”
My head spins, drunk with lust, drunk with want and need and maybe something else. “You really are a monster,” I hiss.
To my surprise, his body vibrates with a chuckle. I want to push my head against his thickly muscled chest so that I can hear the rumble deep in my ears.
Jesus, maybe I really am losing it. Haven’t I been worried about the same thing from the start?
I’m sobering up now. Not so dick drunk anymore. Right. Right.
I’m not some kind of sex freak, I swear. I don’t even usually like sex at all.
With some effort, I pull my legs out from either side of him and roll over to the side of the couch. My pussy and the tender flesh of my inner thighs are coated with moisture, slick and aching.
“What do you think’s going to happen? Do you think your cum is going to poison me or something?” I look over to him. Oddly enough, a pinkish flush covers his body now.
And for the first time, I get an eyeful of what’s below his waist. I could feel it before. But now I can see it too. The bulge.
It’s large. Almost shockingly so. I couldn’t tell so much when I was riding him, but now I’m really getting a good perspective of scale.
He’s much bigger than any human man I’ve ever seen. How could that fit inside me? It doesn’t seem scientifically possible. But then again . . . neither does he . . .
I lick my lips.
And my gaze lingers on him. He meets it.
