My Killer Vacation(65)

Taylor rises up on her toes and brushes her lips over mine. Everything inside of me races around in anticipation. It has never, ever been like this. Not even one percent. I swear to God, by the time she finally kisses me fully on the mouth, I would die having to wait another second. She doesn’t make me, though. She opens her sweet, butterscotch-flavored mouth and invites my tongue inside with a teasing lick of her own. And I go, hungrily, turning my head right and coming at her from an angle, groaning into the slick ride of tongues. The kiss is a slow, thorough entrapment like everything else she’s doing—and I let her. I let her fucking own me. I sign my soul over, signature on the dotted line.

“Sweetheart,” I break away to pant against her forehead.

What am I asking for?

She knows. She knows.

Her right leg lifts and curls around my hip. Not easy with our height difference. Her left leg is still balanced on her big toe. So my arms automatically drop from the wall to support her. Left arm barred beneath her tush. Right hand holding her tits through the wet T-shirt, knuckling her pebbled nipples. “Move my panties out of the way,” she whispers unevenly, diving up into another kiss. Now there’s a worthy job for my right hand. Sliding my fingers from her breasts to the juncture of her thighs, I all but tear the red silk from her body in my haste to reveal that place, that place that feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.

And while she drugs me with long, sensual writhes of lips and tongue, she rubs the head of my cock against her entrance, letting me feel how wet she is. How horny.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so smooth.”

She nods into our kiss. “You should feel the inside of it,” she says, razing my bottom lip with her teeth. “Want to?”

Good God. Taylor is dirty talking me.

Looking up at me from beneath her eyelashes while asking me if I want to fuck.

No. No, make love.

Isn’t that what’s happening? It must be. Because this is like nothing I’ve experienced before. I’m tied to her by a million invisible strings. Connected to her every breath, every tick of her hips and shudder of her body.

“Yes,” I manage, hoarsely, pulling her panties more to the side, thrusting my cock into her fist, begging her to put me in. Right there. Right there. I could do it myself. I could throw her up against this fucking wall and have her screams of encouragement echoing off the rafters in seconds. But I can’t pretend this doesn’t feel good. Perfect. This slow torture. It forces me to think, to savor, to be present instead of disappearing into my head—and she deserves that from me. “Please,” I growl, mouths flush. “Condom in my pocket.”

Looking me right in the eye, she finds the foil pack, tears it open and wraps me up. So slowly I’m half delirious by the time it’s on and she’s dragging the tip of my cock through her soaked folds one final time, then pressing me to her hole. Fuck me, I start to shudder. With responsibility, with excitement. Or maybe just because what’s happening is powerful and my body is acting accordingly. Corresponding to the tectonic shift taking place in my chest. I drop my face into her sweet neck and groan long and loud, while she adds more of my inches, her fist around the base of my shaft, working me in, her hips circling slowly, her wet sounds mingling with the falling rain.

We’re struggling to breathe and I haven’t even thrust yet. And Jesus, I want to, I need to. My balls are swollen and throbbing. But she’s got me trapped in this spell. This woman, this perfect woman, is putting me inside of her, kissing my lips softly, drawing back every few seconds to communicate something to me with her eyes. I’m trying to decode the message when she finally voices it out loud and ruins me.

“You’re in deep everywhere.” Her voice is reedy, gasping. She reaches down for my right hand, which is still needlessly clutching and yanking her panties sideways, placing my flattened palm between her breasts. “Not just between my legs.”

I don’t know what happens. I just sort of stumble into her, crowding her against the stone wall, inhaling and exhaling into her neck. She’s telling me I get to her. I’ve gotten to her. That’s terrifying as much as it’s a miracle. “Taylor.”

My hand moves on its own, trying to yank up her other leg, get it slung around my hips. With her two thighs wrapped tight around me, there will be no more going slow. We’re going to fuck like we’re possessed. But no, no, she won’t let me. She pries my fingers off her knee and shakes her head, working me in and out of her slick pussy with teasing, excruciatingly hot rolls of her hips, instead. Slow. Slow. My inches slide out, then she works them back in to the fucking hilt, clamps her walls around me and grinds. All while looking me in the eye.

And I fucking give in.

I make love with her.

I slide my fingers into her damp hair and shudder through every up and down ride of her slippery pussy. Up my johnson and back down, down. Fuck. It’s so good. I’m keeping her elevated and balanced with my left forearm, but she’s still poised on the tiptoes of her left foot, grinding on me, right leg hugging my waist. I could come just watching her go. Witnessing her absolutely screwing me for life, my soul firmly in her possession.

As much as she’s trying to be in control here, her eyes are beginning to glaze over, her breath faltering. “I’m…” Her hands fist in the front of my T-shirt and the pace of her ride kicks up a notch, nearly turning my knees to ash. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re the perfect size. Just…slightly too big. Enough to hurt a little but not badly.”