His hands move from my arms to my hips, his fingers rough despite being slick with my cream. They bite relentlessly into the fleshy cheeks of my ass. I don't know how he does it, but he seems to push his cock deeper until he bottoms out, hitting my cervix, thrusting into me and hammering so deep that I'm positive he's touching parts I never knew existed.
"Oh, fuck," I breathe with his first long, slow stroke. "Oh, fuck," I say again, a little louder, with his second. "Oh, fuck me!" I cry so loud I could probably wake the dead as he slams into me again, this time pulling my leg up on his hip.
I think I hear him laughing, I can't be sure. There's too much noise in my head and it's all from the blood rushing through my veins. I'm starting to see spots, my body feels like it’s floating. I'm going to come and I'm going to come so hard, it may kill me. "White! I'm coming!" I cry out. I have no idea if it's loud or a whisper. I'm lost. I'm lost in him. Over and over he pounds into me, taking me from one plateau to the next in ways I've never known.
An orgasm rakes through me with the force of a hurricane. My nails scratch down his back as I do my best to hold on and ride it out. Another hits and leaves me nearly limp as I feel White gather my body up and pull me into him. I anchor my legs around his hips as he fucks me. It's a struggle to remain conscious at this point. I experience a moment of complete euphoria, though, as I feel the heat of his climax jet into me. I clench my pussy even tighter against his cock, not wanting one drop of his cum to leave me.
Ever.
CHAPTER 29
KAYLA
White literally has to carry me into the bedroom. It's not late, but I haven't really slept since I was fired, and with what we just did… I don't have any energy. I want to sleep. And sleep for a long time.
We get to the bedroom and he moves me off his body. I whimper a little as he pulls out of me because even though he's only semi-hard now, he's still hard enough that he felt divine inside of me. He places me on the bed against the rumpled sheets. They feel cool to my warm back and I stretch against them, feeling completely sated in ways I never have before. I know when we get up, I'm going to be deliciously sore everywhere. White bends down and kisses my forehead. I want to protest. I don't want him to leave me, but it's a struggle to make my body obey commands and find my voice to object. Instead, I burrow against my pillow. I wish he had at least pulled the cover up around me, but I'm too tired to ask for that, let alone do it myself.
In a few minutes, I hear him come back into the room. I guess he must have changed his mind. I feel his hands around my legs and whimper. Dear Lord in Heaven, he couldn’t be ready to go again already.
"I can't," I whimper and moan, because as good as he is, there's no way I could survive another round. Although, as I feel him kissing the top of my pussy, just a soft brush of his lips, I think dying doesn't sound that bad. It'd be a great way to go.
"Don't worry, Buttercup," he says, pulling away from me. "You dead-frogged me."
Dead-frogged? What the hell is that? More importantly, does it mean I did something wrong? That gives me energy like nothing else could to open my eyes and watch him. He's sitting on the backs of his legs, bent between mine, and he has a cloth in his hand. I gasp when I feel a lukewarm cloth, which definitely feels cool to my well-used female parts, brush against me. He's cleaning me? Do men do this? I mean, no one ever has for me, but I didn't realize this was something any of them ever did. I can't take my eyes off of White, however, as he's bent down slowly sliding the cloth against my pussy and cleaning up the excess from our lovemaking.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, because he seems so serious, and solemn as he washes me.
"Taking care of what's mine," he says and then brushes another kiss, this one against the lips of my pussy. It’s a fleeting touch of his tongue against my clit, and my body quakes. My hand goes to sift through his dirty-blonde hair. As tired as I am, my greedy body wants more, and I'm tempted to hold him to me. I resist—barely.
"That does feel good," I whisper, emotion thick in my throat as White manages to make me feel cherished with just this simple act that really could—and probably should—have been embarrassing.
"Mmm," he whispers. "Soon. I have to rest. You dead-frogged me," he says again, reminding me of what I wanted to ask.
"Dead-frogged? What is that? Should I worry?"
White laughs, moving so he's lying beside me on the bed. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him, and I go willingly, letting his body warm mine. I breathe a sigh of appreciation as he pulls the sheet over us.
"You ever see a frog lying on the highway that's been run over?"
"Your sweet after-sex talk is off the charts, White Hall. Be still my heart, even."
"Hey, you asked."
"Okay, so it's gross and I'm sorry I asked, but yes I have."
"They're kind of splat against the pavement, flat as a pancake. That's what you've done to my poor dick."
I snort in laughter because that's grossly amusing. Then I look down at his dick, which is definitely not flat. It's more like waving in the air demanding attention.
"Odd, your dick doesn't look flat."