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I kissed her lips deeply, loving the taste of her, letting her taste herself with me.

I was lost in her, fingers working her now while I kissed her like the world was ending.

Her hand did not pass go, it went straight for my dick and squeezed.

I was fully dressed, this was about her, not me, but I let her stroke me over my clothes for a few beats before I pulled her hand away.

“Leave my cock out of this,” I told her gruffly. “It’s still your turn.”

“Well, if it’s my turn, I want to touch you. I want to see your body, to feel your skin. You’ve made me look at it often enough, teased me with it. Now let me touch.” That whole speech was in her phone sex voice, and I no more could have turned her down then I could make my cock soft with her naked underneath me.

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I stood up, stripped, then covered her, rubbing the fronts of our bodies together deliciously. I purred, and she got loud and bossy.

I ate it up like it was her responsive, virgin cunt.

She pushed me to my back and I complied. I wanted to see what she’d do more than anything.

I put my arms above my head and stared her down.

My hard-on was trying to leave my body and fight its way violently to her. “Do your worst, cupcake.”

She sat up, moved to sit at my hip, and started tracing a finger over my abdomen.

I smirked, a pained one, but a smirk nonetheless. “I knew you were obsessed with my six-pack.”

“Not as obsessed as you,” she said, and now she was stroking both hands along my stomach and chest, rubbing me down like a happy dog that’d shown her its belly. “And it’s an eight pack. I bet you do a thousand crunches a day just like Patrick Bateman, you psycho,” she added.

“Insults and caresses at the same time. Yum. You get me.”

“You contrary creature,” she said affectionately, playing with my nipples now.

“Mmm. Insults are my love language, remember? You’re the one that said that, and you’re never wrong, if I recall.”

“You’re really going to talk the whole time, aren’t you?” she asked me archly, moving up to her knees to kneel at my side.

I wasn’t talking then, my eyes swallowing her in big, luscious bites.

She leaned over me with one hand on my shoulder and stroked my hair back, her substantial breasts dangling over me, so close but so far away from biting distance.

“Will you get on birth control?” I asked her. I honestly hadn’t known that was going to come out of my mouth, and it almost ruined the mood.

She froze, staring at me.

One hand reached to grab her hip, to keep her from running away, probably. The other hand palming her tit was just reflex.

“Pretty please with as many orgasms as you can handle on top,” I literally begged. “I haven’t been with anyone in months, I just got a checkup and another clean bill of health and I’d give my left nut to be inside of you bare.”

“I have not agreed to have sex with you.” She even said it with a straight face.

“Does it feel silly to say that when we’re naked in bed together, or does it just sound silly?”

“I reiterate, you’re really going to talk the whole time, huh?” She bent down and kissed me, her mind-boggling tits smooshing deliciously against my chest, her hips still held apart.

“You can touch me however you want,” I breathed into her mouth. I reached a hand to rub her sex, pushing a finger inside. She was tight enough that her walls gripped even that, and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head.

One of her hands was busy clutching at my shoulder, holding herself up, but the other clever little hand began to move, to wander, feeling at my neck, my chest, my stomach, my hip—I sucked in a breath—then back up to knead at my chest again.

“Anywhere you want,” I prompted her.