Imogene hesitates. “Really?”
“Really, what? Fair is fair? Yes! That’s what friendships and good marriages should be like, helping each other and working out things so that everyone has a fair share of work—or in this case, fun.”
“No, I mean, my p-pussy over your mouth?”
“Oh, hell, yes. In case you didn’t know this—the more of you I get, the closer up I get—the more I like it.”
I FEEL LIKE I’M LIVINGout all the sexual fantasies I didn’t even know existed. Decadent, worshipful fantasies, where my lover and I are lost in each other.
My mouth goes everywhere, tasting, teasing, nibbling his hardness, tongue down the seam of his thighs, biting gently across his leg. What’s he doing to me?
I don’t think I’m supposed to sound like that. Like someone slurping up the best pudding in the universe. “I’m getting you all wet,” I whisper, suffering a sudden stab of self-consciousness.
In answer, Artie pushes two fingers inside of me, making my limbs stiffen as my body welcomes the new stretch, the delicious intrusion. “Ohhhh,” I let out a low moan, and begin to rock myself back against him.
Just as I’m comfortable—Artie withdraws. “Immy. Look at me.”
I look back over my shoulder in time to see him sucking the juice off his fingers, his eyes burning into mine.
I wasn’t aware that watching a man suck his fingers could make your insides throb, but it’s a night to learn new things.
“The wetter you are, the happier I am. And usually, wet means you’re happy, too. Right?” His fingers return, gently working and out, picking up the pace when I squeeze down, trying to capture the feelings he gives me. “Right?” Fingers move harder, faster, and I move with him.
“Yes. Oh, yes, Artie...” I move without thinking now, just moving the way my instincts tell me.
I don’t know if all women feel like that. Is it something... monstrous in me? Did I devour Artie in a way that wasn’t normal for human women? Am I prowling up him now, needier than a virgin should be?
Artie doesn’t make me doubt myself. He holds out his arms and cocoons me to his chest, our mouths fused, his hands on my back, and my body does the rest.
He pauses for a second to rip open the little square packet on the side, and his fist moves down his cock, once, twice, three times, and it's on.
I never thought I’d be jealous of Artie’s own hands, but I am. I want every inch of him, particularlythoseinches.
“It’s safe, babe,” he murmurs, moving his hand back to my side.
I slide my hips against his, and his hardness slides against my slipperiness until it pushes inside, wider than I’ve experienced, not wide enough to hurt.
The stretch is... divine. I almost come on the spot from the little sear of discomfort and then the thick fullness that locks us together. My walls clamp down, and I ride through the waves of stretching and not-quite-smooth friction.
“You’re not hurting me,” I whisper, knowing that’s why Artie’s keeping still.
“Am I making you do all the work? Should I be on top?”
“Do you want to be?” I ask, half-sitting up.
Artie’s eyes drink me in.
You know those cartoons where the pupils turn into hearts?
It’s that kind of look.
“I would stay here and look at this view forever,” Artie says with a gentle shake of his head.
“Same.” I smile down on him. At this angle, the angular features stand out more, and the eyes are more intense. The muscles in his chest are sharp on a thin frame.
“So handsome,” I whisper.
“No. You just love me.”
