I reach back to find one of her hands and then I move it to my front so that it’s braced against my hip and she can easily stop me if I go too deep. And then I cradle her face with one hand as I feed my cock to her with the other, pushing past her lips and teeth and tongue until I hit the back of her throat, and fuck me, she’s so perfect, even more perfect than I remember from Real Playdates. She takes me so willingly, so easily, and I feel the armored plates of my control beginning to chink open and fall away.
I pull back, giving her a minute to breathe, and then I shove in again, a little rougher this time. Kneeling is not the easiest way to deep-throat, and I don’t want to hurt her or make her gag. But even though her eyes water a little, she swallows me without issue, her eyelashes even fluttering up at me coquettishly. Trusting that she’ll stop me with her hand or snap her fingers to signal if she needs to slow down or stop, I pick up the pace, driving in deeper and faster now. My hands look so large wrapped around her head like this, large and powerful, and I’d be lying if I don’t say this fuels my lust even more. The power exchange, this young woman kneeling in front of me while I fuck her face, it turns me the hell on, and the fact that it’s a young woman I love and respect—that makes the pretend degradation even sexier.
I thrust in again, this time so deeply that I feel her nose press into my stomach, her lips and tongue reflexively swallowing and tightening around my base, and I could come like this, just like this, feeling that nose against my stomach and her head in my hands, and my tip being squeezed so tightly.
My balls draw up in anticipation, but I’m not ready to come yet. I want this to last forever.
Even though she’s not snapping or pushing, I sense she needs a breath and I pull back, letting her breathe, and she does with a gasp, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and smudging her eye makeup. She looks so beautiful right now, her makeup blurry and her hair impossibly tangled, and I take some of that hair in my fist now and pull her up—not hard, but hard enough that she scrambles to her feet.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and I taste traces of myself—salt and soap—and her mouth is wet and gasping. She kisses me back messily, desperately, as if she’s struggling against her own need to breathe, and I am practically clawing at the lace on her hips to yank her thong down. I finally manage to get it past her knees and then my fingers are there in her secret place, which is so impossibly wet right now. She’s so wet that her thighs are slick, and it’s pure instinct that makes me step forward and grind my dick against her. I feel the taut skin of her stomach, the silky curls between her legs, and then her hands are sliding between my slumped jeans and my ass again, pulling me even closer.
It’s an accident, or at least I think it is, the first time she raises up on her toes and my cock slips between her thighs. One second, I am grinding on her like a horny teenager, and the next second, my dick is squeezed between her wet thighs, which are so wet that I can slide in and out of them easily.
“Fuck,” I mumble, because it feels good, because I want it to keep feeling good, but thighsex isn’t exactly the hottest category on my website, and also it’s dangerously close to the real thing and that’s not the plan for tonight.
But then it happens again, and I stop caring. My hands are everywhere—inside her dress, on her ass, thumbing her nipples—and it feels so good to push between her thighs, especially with that wet * moving against the top of my shaft. Without me saying anything, she brings her feet together and crosses her ankles, making it tighter for me.
I hiss out a string of swear words, and she giggles, and I decide that I want to know what it sounds like when her giggles dissolve into moans. So I hook a hand around one of her thighs and haul it up to my waist, raising her up enough that I can bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth through the fabric of her dress.
She does indeed start to moan, and I’m sucking the tip of her breast as hard as I can, and we are both unconsciously squirming and grinding, and then all of a sudden it happens. I feel my swollen crown not just brush past her folds, but for the barest of seconds, push in.
“Shit,” I whisper, raising my head to look at her.
“Shit,” she agrees in a moan, and her face is a mask of desperate, frantic longing.
I can’t seem to pull out, even though I’m barely in, and then she says, “What if you did it just once? Felt the inside of me just once and then pulled right back out? That wouldn’t count, right?”
“Cass…” I say, my voice stretched to the breaking point. I can feel how wet she is against my tip, as if her * is kissing my crown, and I’m about to ignore everything I know I should do—like stop and step away and really, seriously stop—and just thrust home. But I can’t, and the reasons are legion: the show, plus we haven’t discussed sex yet, plus even if I were going to do this, I need to get a condom…
“Just once,” she pleads. “Then we can stop. But I can’t—you can’t stop now. Just once, Logan, please.”
And then she’s pulling me closer and murmuring all those dangerous words, just once just once please please please. And there’s no way in hell I can win this battle, even if I wanted to.