“Don’t—oh God—want you—yes yes yes—slow. Want you—there. Oh God, yes,there.”
My body is on fire. My hips jerk erratically as I pump into her tight vagina, heat radiating around my dick, which is so hard and primed and ready that I don’t know how I’m not coming inside her after two thrusts.
Fuck, she feels good.
“Flint,yes, there, ohmygod,there,” she chants, bucking her hips to meet mine, her hands wrapped around my back, her legs hooked around my ass, everything about her driving me wild.
I’m teetering on the edge, and I don’t think it’s just the edge of coming.
This edge is much more dangerous.
Much more risky.
Much more worth it.
And terrifying as hell.
I should be telling her she’s beautiful.
I should be worshipping her whole body, not just slamming into her like a wild beast staking a claim.
I should be ordering her to come for me.
But all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and let my cock do all the talking.
Which is the last thing this woman deserves.
“Oh God, Flint,oh God oh God oh God, there, I’m—I’m—yes yes yes aaaaahhhhhh,” she moans.
Her vagina clenches like a fist around my cock while her legs strain and straighten, her pussy pushed up against my hips.
She’s coming so hard around me that dots dance in my vision, even with my eyes closed, and I finally let go.
I let go, my own pent-up orgasm railing out of me like a runaway train while I moan into the sensation.
My cock is pulsing. Her vagina keeps squeezing and releasing me, clenching and relaxing, spasming around me while I come harder and longer and deeper than I can ever remember.
I feel it in the pit of my stomach.
In my balls.
In my toes.
In my biceps.
Everything—everything—straining into release in the grip of this woman who has utterly bewitched me and whom I’d happily follow to the very ends of the earth.
“Oh God, you’re good,” she pants. “Sogood. So so good.”
Her fingers are curled in my hair again. Her legs go limp, but I can still feel aftershocks squeezing my cock inside her as the last of my own orgasm rolls through me.
I don’t know if I’m breathing.
I don’t know if I’m still alive.
All I know is that if there’s meaning to life, it’s this.
It’s Maisey, beneath me on a furry rug in front of a fireplace, her breath coming in sweet little gasps while she peppers my head with kisses.
