Willow’s slick heat surrounds me.
Her perfect pussy clamps down on my shaft, and I can’t recall a single reason why I ever thought fucking her was a bad idea.
I withdraw slightly, then press back in. Eyes locked on hers, I know I need to taste her.
I reach up with one hand and grip the back of Willow’s neck, tilting her pretty face.
Her pupils are completely blown, and I can’t wait to watch them dilate even more when she comes on my dick.
“Look at me, Baby Girl.”
She does.
And I press my mouth to hers, moaning as I continue to pump my hips and my tongue at the same time.
Her hands dig into my sides.
Her pink painted nails bite into my skin.
I fucking love it.
She moans when I angle my hips, her pussy tightens, sucking me in deeper, like it never wants to let go of my cock, and I know I’ve foundit.
I kiss her deeper.
Devour her.
Her lips are soft and sweet, but the way she kisses me back? That’s fire.
That’s heat and hunger and want—the kind that grabs a man by the throat and doesn’t let go.
I can taste her moan as it spills into my mouth, feel her fingers clutching at my flesh like she’s trying to climb inside me.
Her excitement crashes into mine like a lit match dropped in gasoline, and I burn for her.
Every shift of her body feeds the wildfire.
Her need.
Her heat.
Her innate sexiness—that natural, unfiltered allure she doesn’t even seem aware of. The thing that drives me halfway out of my mind.
I can’t get close enough.
Can’t get deep enough.
She’s all I want.
All I see. All I feel.
And if I don’t keep fucking her, claiming her, losing myself in her—I might fucking combust.
“So good. You feel so fucking good,” I tell her, and press my forehead to hers.
“Thatcher,” she moans my name.
I kiss her again. Then I rear up, moving to my knees.
