Chapter Fourteen
Rory
Iwake alone, and it’s probably for the best, though I wouldn’t have turned her down if she’d wanted to go again this morning. Christ knows I wake with a hard-on every morning that I’d prefer not to waste.
Still, I’m not beyond settling for the playback reel with my dick in my hand.Though maybe not this morning, I think, as I stretch my body out along the bed, relishing the familiar ache only a mammoth fucking session can bring.
She’d sniffed my jacket. How was that even a turn on? I should’ve known she’d be a great fuck right then. As I’d fought with the unfamiliar lock, jacketless, I should have been feeling the cold. I wasn’t. I burned like a furnace, the ache in my trousers making it difficult to concentrate as my fingers fumbled with the lock. It was no wonder I was on her the minute the door was closed behind us. I’d opened my mouth to offer her drink, but one glance at her lipstick smeared mouth found me pouncing instead, pushing her up against the wall.Again. Like some horny beast.
My hands moving greedily over the gossamer fabric of her blouse, I’d mapped her curves trying desperately to rein it back in, to hold back a little, to keep my touches light.
Until I’d felt her hands on my arse.
Yep, she’s definitely an arse girl, confirmed at the front door as she’d shrunk into my jacket when I’d caught her staring at it.At me? At my arse?So as her hands slid around my waist then slipped lower, it was like a red rag to my bull.
I’d wanted to slam her against the wall.
Pull her thighs around my hips.
Kiss and suck.
Bite and fuck.
Feed the burn in my gut.
But still, I held tight to my restraint. Usually, I’m all about the tease; a little spanking. Holding their wrists while making them wriggle. A little light bondage, if they seem up for it. But not last night, because as I pushed my hands under her skirt, I’d found fucking tights.
I’m not some kind of a deviant—I like garter belts as much as the next fella—but there was something hot about seeing the outline of her tiny knickers beneath the nylon. It was like her blouse all over again. Yeah, I’ll admit it. Standing at the bar, I might’ve thought I could see right through it at one point, convinced it wasn’t a trick of the lighting. I’d struggled to hide how this affected me, my fingers just millimetres away from reaching out. And even as I’d leaned in to whisper in her ear, my mind was working the angle. Could I manage a subversive brush without being caught?
And then tights. Thick and black, but not quite obscuring the pale scrap beneath. Now you see it, now you don’t; but I was definitely seeing this time. Feeling. Peeling them away from her waist to fuck her with my hand.
Fingering is so underrated.
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and feed one hand beneath my head, while the other reaches for my cock.So I didn’t think I’d be in the mood. Obviously, I was wrong.The whole evening isn’t so much a reel of fucking as much as it is a montage; flashes of memories and sensations. Of freckles peppering the sun kissed skin of her chest. Of how she’d panted against my mouth as I licked her pink stained lips. Of how her clit was as slippery as satin under my thumb.
We hadn’t even made it to the bedroom.At least, not the first time, the reflection of her hungry eyes eliminating all thoughts of a bed. I needed to be inside her. To see the need on her face as I slid between her legs.To see the reflection of this, too.I fucked her soundly, and I got to watch. See all of her. See her taking all of me, her raspy breath misting the mirror as she’d exhaled those unintelligible sounds.
She’d already half collapsed by the time I shot my load, whipping the rubber off and lashing her arse in hot jets of come.God, her face as she’d turned her head over her shoulder.I don’t know whether she’d been impressed or horrified. Though I reckon it had turned her on, if her eyes were any indication, her mouth falling open in a softo.
A first for her, it seemed, and definitely for me. Not sure what exactly possessed me, except to say that in that moment, I’d wanted to own her. Leave my mark. I wanted in—truly in—and the next best thing was painting her in the stuff.
My fingers tighten around the head of my cock and I suck in a deep mouthful of air. If it’s possible, I’m harder now, need drawing my balls tight, every inch of me hot and prickling. My body jerks against the bed, hips rising and rolling into my hand. I stroke firmly—once, twice—as I remember how, later, we’d stumbled to the forgotten bed. Of how she’d gasped as I’d slid once more between her legs, her back arching and chasing my touch. Of how I’d fucked her mouth with my tongue, swallowing her eager sounds. Of how I’d rammed myself into her tight pussy again and again.
My hand works harder now, no longer satisfied by light touches except where my thumb strokes my sensitive, leaking cock-head. My heart is pounding as I imagine what it would feel like to have more than my tongue in her mouth... those lips wrapped around my base... her head moving... her hand twisting... her tongue flicking... In my mind, I have her hair tight in my fingers, directing the movements of her hot, wet mouth. I buck up into her, listening to her desperate sounds as I—
‘Fuck!’Heat shoots up my shaft, jets of come spraying my abs and chest.
My breathing is heavy, my skin taut, my eyes are on the ceiling and I’m smiling to myself.Then chuckling.
So much for not feeling it this morning.
I wonder if that hair salon is open on Sunday? And more to the point, I wonder if she’d be up for another round?
