Page 23 of My Redneck Baby Daddy

He kissed me. "I ain't laughing at you."

"You are literally laughing."

"You're cute when you're mad."

"Bobby Jo."

"Rue."

I couldn’t see a thing past about eight inches, which turned out to be exactly as far as I needed to see. His hair was a mess his eyes were so green it was ridiculous. One of his hands spread out across my back and covered nearly all of it.

He lined himself up, the blunt head of his dick pressing against my pussy, slick from his mouth and my own wetness. He pushed in slow and I sucked in a breah.

“Oh…”

The stretch was sharp, a deep burn that made my breath hitch.

It hurt some, and he knew it, and he stopped until I told him not to.

"Keep going," I whispered. "I want it."

He sank in another inch, then another, thick and relentless, until he was buried to the hilt. I felt split open around him.

Full. So damn full…

I could barely think as he stayed still, with his forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

"Jesus, you’re so fucking tigh. And you feel so fucking good around my dick, sweet baby…"

I rolled my hips experimentally and the burn eased into something hotter. He started to move then, long, slow strokes that dragged every ridge of him against my walls. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. His hand found my breast, thumb rough over my nipple, and his mouth found the side of my throat.

"You like that? Taking my dick like this?"

"Yes…"

"Gonna make this pussy take every inch."

He fucked me deeper, steady, the headboard starting hit up against the wall some. One of his hands slid under my ass, tilting me up so he could grind against my clit on every thrust. The pain melted into thick, filthy pleasure. I wrapped my legs around his waist and met him, chasing it.

"Harder," I heard myself usher him on.

He growled and gave it to me deeper, and nastier strokes that made wet, obscene sounds every time he bottomed out. My pussy clenched around him, greedy, and he cursed low against my ear.

"Listen to that. Soaked for me. Fuck, Rue."

And then at some point it stopped being a thing that was happening to me and became a thing we were doing, and I stopped keeping track of anything at all.

He flipped us without pulling out, settling me on top of him so I could set the pace. I sank down onto his dick and the new angle punched a moan out of me. His hands gripped my hips, guiding, letting me ride him while he thrust up to meet me. My tits bounced with every movement; he sat up enough to suck one nipple into his mouth, teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp.

"That’s it, Teach. Find your rythmn baby…slow and steady…"

I did what he told me, slowly riding him chasing the friction, the thick stretch, the way he filled every empty place inside me. When I came again it was messy and loud, my pussy pulsing around him in waves. He flipped us back over, hiked one of my legs higher, and fucked me through it with short, brutal strokes that kept the orgasm rolling until I was shaking and half-sobbing his name.

He followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning against my neck as he came, hot pulses flooding me. We stayed locked together, both of us breathing like we’d run miles.

Afterward I lay there in the dark trying to figure out why nothing felt the way I had been told it would.

He was half asleep beside me with his arm heavy across my hip, blond hair stuck up every direction, the tattoos on his forearm gone blue in the light coming through the window. Waylon had let himself in and collapsed against the foot of the bed like he owned the room.