No shorts.
No underwear.
No bra.
Just Ziggy skin against my jersey.
The jersey I’m never washing again.
I strip out of my own Pounders polo and drop my shorts and boxer briefs, which get stuck on the fucking boot.
While I lean over and tug the damn fabric around the boot, Jessica grumbles to herself, rises, shakes, and heads to the kitchen, which makes Ziggy laugh.
Her breasts bounce under my jersey as she shifts on the couch to make room for me. “Should I take this off?” she asks, toying with the hem and lifting it enough for me to see her pussy.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s a little tight in the boob area.”
And I thought I couldn’t get any harder.
I finally free myself from the damn boot, kick my other shoe off, and stalk to the couch, gripping my bobbing cock.
She bites her lower lip as she looks down at my hard-on. “Is that all for me?”
“Tell me how you touched yourself while you were watching me on the pitch.”
“Well…” She spreads her legs and dips her fingers into her curls. “It went something like this…”
I growl as I push her legs wider and settle my shoulders between them, getting a better view of the pink skin hiding between her curls and her fingers stroking her seam.
She’s wet.
It’s fucking beautiful.
She touches her clit and tilts her head back with a sigh, and I’m done.
Just done.
Don’t want to watch anymore.
Now, I want to taste. Lick. Suck.
Devour.
And I do.
I bury my head between her thighs and feast on her pussy until she’s crying my name and bucking her hips into my face, coming all over my tongue.
This.
This is what I want to come home to every night.
Ziggy.
Naked or wearing my kit or fully dressed.
Trusting me.
