“Yes.” He explores me with his hand. “Nicholas with the sweet little flower shop. Never would have guessed you’re so filthy.”
I pull Clay’s shirt off, too. “I’m still sweet,” I tell him. I strip off my underwear with my pants and get on top of Clay, straddling him. We’re both naked, and my skin is hot and flushed as my dick leaks. “Sweet. And hard. And wet.”
Clay spits in his hand and grabs my dick, wrapping his fist around it. I moan my appreciation and take his erection, too, feeling his girth.
He holds me, his breath shaky, and then squeezes, nice and steady.
Clay and I kiss and explore each other. I stroke him softly while he plays with my dick. The sensation is enough to steal mywords for a few minutes, but when I come back to my senses, the dirty talk pours out again.
“That’s right,” I tell him, moving my hips and pushing my dick closer to Clay’s. “Feels so good, Clay. Touch my cock just like you touch yourself when you’re jerking off.”
Clay rubs his face against my neck. “First dick I’ve ever touched beside my own,” he says and pumps me harder.
“You’re so good at it,” I tell him, stroking him faster, too. “And your cock is so slick and hot. Makes me want to touch you and suck you and play with you until you orgasm all over my face.”
Our dicks rub together, and Clay’s hand goes over both of us. Pleasure gushes through me as we connect, flowers blooming at my core and spreading through my body. His rough grip is steady, and we easily slide into rhythm.
I throw my leg over the back of his thigh, letting him grind me into the couch. I’m pulsing, and I could ejaculate any minute if I let myself.
“Want to feel your dick everywhere,” I tell him. “Want to feel you on my skin. Throbbing against my tight hole. Plunging into me.”
Clay’s groan breaks into a moan. He thrusts from his hips, fucking his hand into his fist and rubbing my cock at the same time, our shafts thwapping together.
“Gonna come,” he manages through a strangled breath.
I let out a long, low moan in response. “Come all over me,” I gasp, and he does.
Clay bucks hard, and his dick gets even fatter against my shaft. His entire body convulses as he sprays. The hot load floods my abs, and I shake and release my climax in response, ejaculating into his fist.
We both gasp for breath. I’m sprawled against his torso on the couch, and I watch as Clay looks at his hand, processing the semen that’s soaking his fingers.
I stroke his chest lightly as I come back to earth.
Finally, Clay gets up. “Let me get you a towel,” he mumbles, but he looks like he’s about to pass out.
I grab his arm. “I got it. Stay here.”
I smile to myself, dazed, as I hurry into the bathroom, where I wash myself off first. Clay didn’t balk at all at the dirty talk, and the thrill of it felt exactly right, a way to affirm him and keep communication open without taking the spark out of our fun.
Still in a happy haze, I walk back out and toss one of the hand towels to Clay.
“These are Randy’s hand towels, I take it?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they have tiny Betty Boops printed on the bottom.”
Clay wipes his hands off. “Is that who that woman is?”
“That’s her. Randy loved her little dance.” I wiggle my hips. “You know, boopy do.”
He snorts out a laugh. “Boopy do?”
I laugh, too. “I can’t remember how it goes.”
“You’re cute,” Clay grumbles as he looks through his clothes, eyes off of me.
Okay, now I’m joking around and wiggling my hips naked and singing like Betty Boop. Hopefully, I’m not getting too familiar with Clay. Don’t want to scare him away, and I don’t want to let my own emotional guards down, either.
