I know how hard it is for her to let go and hand me the reins, which is why I cherish moments like these. It’s more than sex. It’s more than lust. It’s everything.
My tongue finally finds its mark, and Sloane’s body jumps on the concrete loading dock like she just got electrocuted. “Oh, shit, Zeth. Oh my god.” Her hands run up her own body, until she’s cupping her breasts through her shirt. There’s nothing more enjoyable than watching a woman who knows how to press her own buttons. As I work my mouth over her pussy, growling with pleasure at the taste of her, and the texture of her on my tongue, I watch her touching herself, stroking her fingers against the skin of my neck, over her lips, sliding up under her button-down shirt so she can reach the swell of her perfect tits under her bra as well.
If giving head was a martial art, I’d be a black belt. No, scratch that, I’d be a motherfucking grandmaster. I know exactly how to work the tip of my tongue over Sloane’s clit to make her body lock up tight. I know precisely how to use the flat of my tongue, sliding up over her pussy to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves in a long, broad stroke, in order to make her pant and moan.
“Damn it, Zeth. Oh, shit, you’re going to make me come!”
Like I said: Motherfucking Grandmaster.
I curl my arms up underneath her thighs, so I can grip her better by the hips, and that’s when I push my tongue inside her. She tastes so fucking good. I could be stranded on a desert island, and Sloane’s pussy could be the only thing available for me to eat, and I’d be the happiest, most well fed man in the existence of human kind. She grabs hold of me by the hair, grinding up into my face, and I almost lose my shit.
She’s close. I can tell by how wet she is and the frantic, erratic note in her voice when she moans. I want to make her come with my mouth—it obliterates her every time when I do—but a large part of me, an eight inch long, rock solid, demanding as fuck part of me, wants very much to be inside her right now.
She whimpers as I rock back, leaving her laying there on her back with her legs wide open. “Patience, angry girl.”
It takes me less than a second to unzip my pants and free my cock. Sloane watches me through half closed eyes; the first two buttons of her shirt are undone, and her tits are free, the cups of her bra pulled down to expose her creamy, smooth skin, and her peaked nipples. “Bad, bad girl,” I tell her. “Look what you’ve done.”
She closes her eyes, head rocking back, and I give myself half a heartbeat to take in the sight before me. Has a man ever been as lucky as this before? The woman in front of me is laid wide open, soul bared, waiting for me to do whatever the fuck I want to her, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I take her. I’m not gentle as I slide myself into her slick, wet heat. I thrust as hard as I can, because I know how much she fucking loves it when I do. She winds her arms around me, pulling me to her, digging her fingernails into my leather jacket. I can feel them through the thick, tough material, so she clearly means business.
God, her pussy feels so good. I’ve fucked her mouth and I’ve fucked her ass, but nothing is ever as good as her pussy. Our bodies fit together with a kind of precision that blows my mind. Our physiology doesn’t lie; we were made for each other.
I hit her g-spot, and Sloane lets out a raw, broken cry that pierces me like a goddamn spear to the chest. She’s so close. I am, too. The rising feeling of euphoria inside me is something I can pull away from if she ever needs more time, but right now she’s teetering on the brink and I’m going to have to quit slamming myself into her if I want her to hold out any longer.
I’ve teased her enough, though. I want to feel her coming all over my cock right now. I have to feel it, like I have to breathe air. It’s more than a desire; it’s a necessity. I bite down on her collarbone as I ride the wave that comes rushing at me. Sloane bucks upward, her hips pressing urgently against mine, and then she’s screaming out into the dark, her hands clawing at me as she comes.
Heat blooms inside me, spreading its fingers over me, through me, over the backs of my thighs and my buttocks, chasing up my back, sending a riot of pins and needles prickling up the back of my neck, over my scalp. Sloane shakes, her breath coming in short, sharp blasts as I push into her one last time.
“God,” she whispers, her voice hoarse, barely audible above the racket my crazy heartbeat is making in my ears right now. “That was…intense.”
She opens her eyes, looking up at me, and I see myself reflected there. I see an endless, improbable, imperfect future stretching out before me. If it were perfect, this life Sloane and I have signed up for together, then neither one of us would survive it. We both need a little chaos to fuel our fires. We both need a little unpredictability and a little turbulence along the way. Just knowing that we can handle whatever is thrown at us is enough for me, though.