I have to kiss her.
Gently now, I coax her lips to mine, while my fingers pump faster, thumb rubbing harder.
And then she explodes. I taste her beautiful moan, as her arms clasp and her thighs squeeze, and her * traps my fingers in fantastic pulsating contractions.
When her limbs loosen and her hands are cupping my jaw and she’s kissing me slow and sweet and grateful, I slip my fingers out of her. I rear back, and she watches with burning eyes as I taste the wetness that coats them. Better than grenadine or tequila or fucking bourbon—Sofia’s juice is the elixir of the gods, and I’ll be sucking on that delicious * before the night is over.
But first it’s time for her to have her fun.
With a sharp grin and an almost evil spark in her eye, she grips my tie and pulls me back in for a kiss. I let her spin us around, so my back is against the door. As our mouths dance, I push my hands into her hair—gripping—pulling the way I know she craves. Then I’m pushing her down.
Down on her knees.
She looks up at me, those fucking eyes alight and hungry, as her open palms slide over my pants, up my thighs, unbuckling my belt with a clang. I watch, my hand running across her head, through her hair, as she tugs them and the boxers underneath down to my ankles. I step out of them and lose eye contact as she rubs up my legs, toned and solid with muscle.
“These legs,” she admires aloud. “They were made to be kneeled at.”
I chuckle darkly. “Thanks for the compliment, darlin’. But no more talkin’ now—I have much more interesting uses for that mouth of yours.”
She smiles and runs her tongue across her lips. My thick cock jumps, ’cause it knows what’s coming next. I grip my dick firmly, pumping slow, then trace the tip over Sofia’s lips, spreading the moisture already there across them.
I look into those eyes, eyes a man could drown in if he’s not careful—and I tell her, “Open.”
I don’t mind a woman who’s eager, and I’ve been more than happy to lay back and let a girl have her wicked way with me. But here—now—with Sofia, there’s a rush from her submission. A thrill at being above her, in charge of her. And I want to take my time, let her feel every inch of what I’m giving—instead of just allowing her to take.
Like the saying goes, giving really is better.
Her lips are swollen, rosy from my rough kisses. They spread as she opens wide, and I guide my dick into that wet, hot heaven. I push in slow, breathing hard, until I hit the back of her throat with a moan. And I sink into the fucking sensation of her snug, warm mouth wrapped around me. So goddamn good.
I look down, watching as I slide back out, her lips tightening, like they don’t want me to go. Then I push back in, a little harder, a little farther. I hold myself inside, feeling her throat constrict around me.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan.
It’s delicious torture—perfect agony that I want to last all night.
But I pull back out, just to have the chance to push in again.
Cradling her head, I tell her, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Keep that mouth open, take it all in . . . fuck . . .”
I can’t hold back. Eyes rolling closed, I start to thrust. I don’t want to come, not yet, but I also don’t want to stop. Just a little more, a bit longer.
Sofia moans with excitement—loving it almost as much as I do—and the vibration goes straight to my balls, making them tighten, readying for the rapture that’s just so fucking close. Right on the edge, I grip her hair and pull her off. Then I guide her up to her feet and kiss that perfect mouth.
Now where to? The floor, the couch, up against the wall?
The bed just isn’t an option—way too far away.
I pick up my pants, retrieving the condom from the pocket, tearing it open and rolling it on with an expertise born of practice and desperation. Watching me, Sofia slips out of her skirt and panties, not bothering with the blouse that’s little more than hanging, torn scraps.
The floor it is.
Pulling her into my arms, fucking her mouth with my tongue, I descend to my knees, taking her with me, then lay her down, cushioning her head from the hardwood with my palm.
“Hurry, Stanton,” she begs. Screwing is the only time I’ll ever hear Sofia beg, and it’s awesome. “I need it. Oh God . . .”
She lifts her hips, rubbing against my stomach, her * even wetter now. We both groan as I push inside—stretching her stunning tightness—burying to the hilt.
Fuck, yeah.
Exquisite, harsh sounds come from her throat as I thrust hard, pummeling, building us both back up. Her nails dig into my back, making me hiss, and I grip her shoulders for leverage. I grind against her, my hips circling when I’m deepest, pelvises clashing.
“You want it harder?” I rasp, breathless against her ear.
Her legs tighten around me, heels digging into my ass in answer.