I sink all the way down onto his cock, taking my time, feelingevery inch of him penetrating me, parting my slick walls, feelinghome.
I lift myself and sink back onto him again.
His broad chest rises quickly, and his eyes drop half-closed again, but he’s still watching me.
Still being Fletcher.
Still taking everything in.
Takingmein.
Like he’s memorizing this. Memorizing me.
“Play with my nipples,” I whisper.
“Kiss me,” he whispers back.
My heart melts into a puddle ofsomeone should love this man.
And I do.
Kiss him, I mean.
Clearly, I don’t love him.
I barely know him. How could I love him?
Be his friend?
Yes.
Love him?
This—my hips pumping faster as I ride his cock, my mouth attacking him while he pinches my nipples and cradles my breasts and then reaches between us to circle his thumb around my clit while I bounce faster and faster, chasing that high of all of the coiling inside me coming loose at once—this isn’t love.
This is a fling with a friend who knows what he’s doing.
Andoh my god.
He thrusts his hips to meet mine, teasing my clit and then taking his thumb away, his cock rock-solid, andoh my god, there it is.
There’s the spot.
That’s the spot.
He flicks my clit once more as he strokes his tongue into mymouth and his cock hits that spot inside me, and I shatter into a billion pieces.
Light flashes behind my eyelids.
My toes curl.
I grind down hard on his pelvis, soaking up the sensations as I realize he’s groaning my name, his fingers biting into my hips while he holds me still, our bodies as connected as two bodies can be, my orgasm ripping through me and his cock pulsing in time inside me.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
I can onlybe.
