The second my tongue touches her, I groan like a starving man.
And Bryn is my breakfast, lunch, dinner, and definitely my dessert.
I lick a path along her sweet, wet heat, lapping her up, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“That’s so good, oh God, that’s so good,” she moans, rocking against my face as I go down on her like this. And I love it.
I fucking love it.
I love that she’s under me. That she’s offering herself to me. That she doesn’t want a standard order of hot vanilla sex. That maybe she wants it with a little spice.
And I want her that way, so I make sure to let her know—with my lips, and my tongue, and the way I fuck her with my mouth.
I devour her pussy, kissing her till her arousal is coating my lips, my chin, my stubble. Eating her till she’s bucking against my face, her fingers clenched in fists as she grips the couch. Consuming her till she’s bowing her back and panting her orgasm alert.
“Oh, God, yes. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
As if I could.
I don’t want to, because she tastes divine as she floods my tongue, coming with me for the first time.
And it definitely won’t be the last, because once is not enough.
I’m on fire everywhere, my body sizzling with the need to have her.
I’m wild for this kind of pleasure, this kind of mind-bending connection. And even though this is just sex, just a hookup, I’m not going to be satisfied with one evening with her.
The night has only just begun, but I know I’m going to want more with her. I rise and grab a condom from my wallet, sending a quiet thank you to the hopeful part of my brain that planned ahead. Tossing the condom on the couch, I strip off my shoes, shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs, and reach for her hand. She’s sex-drunk and slack-jawed, and her eyes spell one word only—bliss.
It’s beautiful and addictive, and I want to put that look on her face again.
“Hi,” she says, all breathy as she stares at my cock, hard and ready for her. “Your dick is better than pretty. It’s fucking hot.”
I grip my cock and slide a fist down it, shuddering both from the contact and from her dirty words. “Ask me now. Ask me how I want you.”
Her green eyes glimmer with desire. “How do you want me? How are you going to have your way with me?”
“Take that skirt off and get behind the couch.”
“Ohhh.” That’s all she says, but it sounds like a fantasy on her lips.
Thank God. Because it’s my fantasy too. It’s a simple one. It’s not like I want to bang her on a yoga ball or swing from the chandelier. I’m not aiming for a contortionist badge or a bizarre sex antics award. But I don’t want missionary either.
Her skirt falls to the floor. She wears only her white lace bra.
I stare at her, my eyes commanding. “The bra too.”
“You didn’t say to take it off.”
I point at her tits. “I want it off, Bryn. Take it off.”
Something—maybe nerves—flashes in her eyes, but then, with a determined set of her jaw, she unhooks her bra, letting it fall quietly to the floor.
A rumble works its way up my chest as my eyes feast on dusty-rose nipples I want in my mouth. Her breasts aren’t huge. They’re perky—I don’t know what cup size and I don’t care, because I just want to get my hands and lips on them.
For a flicker of a second, she looks nervous, swallowing roughly. Concern takes over, and I set desire aside as I step closer. “Are you okay, Bryn?”
“They’re fake,” she says, a little embarrassed.
“Your breasts?” I ask, because I didn’t expect that.
“Yes.” It comes out soft, slightly apologetic.
I’m not sure what to say—whether this admission is a good thing or a bad thing.
I trust my instincts and speak from the heart, asking the only question that truly matters. “Do you like them?”
“I do.”
I grin. “Then, so do I.”
“But they might feel different,” she says, worrying at her lip.
Ah, hell. I reach for the beauties, cupping them, and my cock thickens more, the evidence that all that matters is her. “They feel fantastic, and I’d like to get to know them a whole lot better.” I narrow my eyes. “Preferably while my dick is inside you. Does that work for you?”
And a soft, grateful smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”
I let go and pat the back of the couch. “Then bend over, woman.”
