He wanted to hold back. He wanted to savor this.
But it’s not about whatyouwant, imbecile.
He thrust slightly deeper. She breathed into his mouth and stroked his scalp.
“Yes,” she said.
He thrust deeper still and forced himself to pull his head away from her face so he could look at her.
She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, George.”
He realized then he was likely frowning. And she was reassuring him when he should be doing that for her. He pulled out a little and then plunged his cock in again, slightly deeper than before. She made the O with her lips, just as she had when he had touched her berry.
“How does it feel, Phee?”
“How does it feel to you?”
“It feels . . .” He knew he had to tell the truth. “. . . bloody marvelous.”
“George,” she crooned. “I’m so glad. Keep going.”
Like his initial kisses, he took his time. An almost ponderous,adagiotempo that belied the absolute joy his cock was feeling inside her. But he couldn’t help himself. He went much deeper than he intended.
He checked her face. She still had her mouth open but her eyes looked a little hazed.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” Then she seemed to come back to herself. “What should I be doing?”
He was panting. “You . . . can . . . keep . . . touching my head.” She giggled and used her short nails to scratch glorious circles on his forehead, the top of his head, his occiput.
“Should I push back?” Suddenly her pelvis was lifting off the bed, following his own rhythm.
“You can,” he grunted, “if you like.”
Phoebe began to push up against him more quickly than his own strokes. Now, from beneath him, she was controlling the speed of their coupling. She was also controlling the depth, pulling very far away from him so he felt he might almost come out of her and then pushing back against him. Hard. Very hard.
Oh. Oh. Ohhhh.
“You . . . are . . .” he panted.
“Yes, George?” she gasped. Her face was flushed, glowing, incandescent. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“You’re a natural.”
Oh, my God.
He could not explain what happened next. He lost his mind. It wandered away from him, perhaps realizing it had no place in this bed with these two people panting, sweating, grunting, and joined at the groin.
Without his mind, he could not think. He could only feel. And all he could feel was his cock.
He was made of cock, and only cock. And testicles. He was one big throbbing cock with a pair of lead-weighted testicles.
He seized her hips for one-two-three-four more strokes and then pulled out of her and reared back. Fountaining up between her legs. Screaming.
He had never screamed before.
She sat up.
“George?”
