“Because I…” That sentence never gets finished. She stops herself, and I want to challenge her on that, but she’s kissing me again, and I lose focus on anything but that. When she breaks the kiss she says, “I want to ride you.”
“Next time,” I promise and I can’t believe I’m turning her down. Normally there is nothing I love more than a woman bouncing on my cock while I play with her tits, but tonight… I want her under me. I’m not some domineering twat. I just don’t think I’ll last long enough if I let Frankie take control.
I reach down and grab my cock, sliding it slowly across her opening. She arches her back a little and whimpers. “There isn’t going to be a next time, Billy. We both know there can’t be.”
I wish she was wrong. “Later, then?”
“I’ve never come missionary,” she warns me softly as I still play at her entrance. “I have to come with you. I need it.”
“Sweetheart, I promise,” I promise and push just the tip in. Oh fuck that’s heaven. “I’ll take you to that finish line.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but instead I slide into her even more, and any words she might have spoken are gone. It’s a blessing, really, because I wouldn’t be able to form a response to anything she said anyway. I am too wrapped up in the feeling of her slick, warm heat hugging every inch of my dick. I feel my stomach drop, my balls tighten.
She says my name. “Billy.”
It’s breathy but firm. And our eyes connect as I slide in completely. This is it. Teenage fantasies come to fruition at long last. She’s this race I didn’t realize I’ve been competing in for a decade. And now, the checkered flag is flying high and this… this is the victory lap I am going to remember for the rest of my life. I slide out, almost completely, and back in. “Your pussy was meant for me.”
Her answer is a long moan. I find a rhythm. It’s not perfect because I have to slow down every now and then to keep from coming too soon. She’s writhing under me, shifting her hips and chasing that elusive missionary orgasm. I reach up behind her head and grab one of the pillows. “Put your feet on the bed and lift that sweet ass.”
A flicker of skepticism passes through those amber eyes but she does what I ask and I slip the pillow under her lower back. Our eyes meet, and I kiss her and then ask softly, “That okay?”
“I think so…” I slide into her farther and the ‘o’ in that last word slips into a moan.
“Wrap those gorgeous legs around my thighs, love,” I whisper against her neck and she follows orders without a flicker of hesitation this time. I push higher into her. And holy shit. I am seeing stars. She must be too because that breathy moan of hers has climbed an octave. The base of my cock is buried against her clit and I barely have to move my hips to more pleasure than I’ve ever felt in my life. She feels it too and reaches up for me as I roll and grind so deep inside her, so in-fucking-credibly deep… All it takes is a few long, slow, aching strokes and then I feel the world start to slip away.
”Oh my God… oh God… Billy…” She whimpers and comes, like a warm tsunami, that rushes in and takes my own orgasm with it as it rushes out a few moments later.
My arms quiver and give up, and I drop down on top of her. Her legs are Jell-O slipping off the back of my thighs and she takes a slow, shuddering gulp of air. I smile against her silky hair fanned out under my cheek on the pillow. “Can’t say you never came from missionary now, can you?”
“You really are a hero.” She sighs and we both start laughing.
I must have drifted off after I pulled out of her and dropped the condom into a waste bin, because suddenly, I’m waking up. I don’t think it’s been too long, but Frankie isn’t in bed with me. I sit up and spot her crossed bare feet on the ottoman in the living room. I untangle myself from the sheets, pull on my underwear, and join her. Frankie is stretched out on the sofa. She’s wearing the shirt I walked in here wearing and a pair of silk boxer bottoms and is popping sushi into her mouth. Next to her on the couch is the tiny little crocheted panda I ordered off of Etsy for her back when she got the job. I’m thrilled she kept it and has obviously been toting it around. That’s why I picked the smaller one on the site, so she could travel with him, if she wanted to. “I’m starving.”
I smile and lean on the door frame. “I can see that.”
“Sorry not sorry if I look like a pig.”
“You look like a sexy, incredible woman,” I explain and push myself off the wall to walk toward her. “A ravenous one, but still sexy and incredible.”
I lean in and reach for a piece of sushi for myself. She narrows her eyes and I grin. “You wore me out too, love. If there’s going to be a round two, I’ll need sustenance.”
She lifts an eyebrow, but she’s also fighting a smile as she tries to say in a serious tone, “Who said anything about another round?”
“Tell me if I walk over there and stick my hand in those cute little boxers I won’t find the perfect little pussy wet and eagerly awaiting round two,” I challenge, and my words make her blush just the slightest.
“Eat your sushi,” she commands without answering my question, which is answer enough. She glances at the crocheted stuffie beside her and back at me. “I don’t need two pompous pandas in here.”
I pop a piece of dynamite roll into my mouth and walk over and drop down on the sofa beside her. As I swallow and lift her legs onto my lap instead of the ottoman, she grabs a spicy salmon roll expertly with some chop sticks and holds it in front of me. I open my mouth, and she drops it in. When I’m done eating, I wink at her. “For the record, I’m leaving room for dessert.”
My eyes boldly slide to those boxers I mentioned earlier, and she puts down the chop sticks and the tray of sushi.
“No one said you had to wait until the meal is over to eat dessert.”
“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” I yank on her legs, dragging her closer to me on the sofa and lay her out on her back.
She’s giggling joyfully as I slide my hands up her thighs and tug off the boxers.
Round two is just as mind-blowing as round one. I let the post-orgasm haze blanket over the dark thoughts that lurk in the back of my mind. Thoughts about how I’m going to live the rest of my life without a round three, or four, or four hundred and fifty-four.
