Good Time(28)

“I don’t actually. You’re really big and I think we’d need more than a sample packet of lube to make that happen. But I assume you know better than I do.”

His eyes flash, twin pools of heat and desire and warning.

“I’m a traditional fucker, Payton. I like to start with pussy.” He moves the head of his cock up and I feel him parting me with the tip, pushing inside just enough for me to feel the pressure of him. The heat and weight and mass of him.

“Is that what you call what you just did with your mouth?” I challenge. “Traditional?” I wiggle my hips, trying to get more of him inside of me. I’m not sure why I’m encouraging him to hurry because a cock that size should be treated with a little respect. It’s just that I’m not the most levelheaded of girls in the best of circumstances and we’re going on twenty-four hours of foreplay. I’m ready to change my band name from Sated, Yet Horny to Flash Flooding.

He shakes his head and murmurs something about my mental health before flexing his hips on a quick thrust. I wouldn’t call it a slam so much as a perfectly-aimed nine-ball in the corner pocket. If the nine-ball was a bit too wide for the pocket but the pocket had stretching abilities and enjoyed a challenge.

I exhale and ease the bedding from my grip.

“You good?” Vince is watching me closely.

“Hmm-hmm,” I murmur and nod my head, watching him back. He really is the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I reach up and trace my fingertip over his bottom lip. I cannot believe I get to do this with him. It’s like winning the sex lottery, I think as I wiggle my hips beneath him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans and pulls back before sinking back into me.

“Same,” I reply, tightening around him.

“Hands above your head,” he instructs as he moves my leg to his shoulder. Oh, holy Jesus, that changes things a little. I bend my other leg to brace my foot on the bed because I think I’m going to need it. And then he’s moving faster, and it’s rough and hot and deep, just like I asked for. I don’t even think about moving my hands from because I need them where they’re at to keep to keep a safe distance between my head and the headboard.

Vince pinches my nipple and I tighten so hard around the length of him we both hiss in response.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he whispers in my ear. “Tight and wet. You feel even better than I imagined you would.”

You know what turned me on the most in that sentence? The idea of him thinking about fucking me. I moan deep in my throat and rotate my hips to meet his thrusts.

“Ditto,” I whisper back.

“You’re even wetter on my dick than you were on my face.”

If I was capable of blushing, I would. I mean I am. Capable of it. But I’m already so flushed and breathless I don’t think a blush would be discernible right now.

Then he bends both of my knees to my chest, my feet resting on his shoulders, and sinks back into me.

“Oh, my God.”

“Yes,” he coaxes “Talk to me. Tell me what you like.”

“I like you,” I say because it’s really the only way to sum up my feelings. I’ve never been with anyone like him before. He’s like some magical combination of accommodating and aggressive and it’s totally my jam.

He’s so deep and the pressure is so intense. It’s building and building and I feel like I’m just a mass of particles and tension ready to explode. I can hear myself, his name falling from my lips in repetition, over and over. My neck arched, my fingers digging into his forearms.

It feels so good to be filled by him like this. He’s so deep it’s nearly painful, yet I don’t want him to stop. He’s hitting all the right places in this position and I’m so close that the nip of pain when he thrusts deep only serves to push me closer to where I want to go.

“You feel so good, Payton.” He’s breathing heavily and I know he’s close. I know he’s holding back for me. “I can’t wait to feel you come on my cock. Fuck, you’re so slick and hot, you feel so good.”

When I come it feels like it lasts forever. I’m not even sure if it’s still Sunday. It could be sometime next week or maybe I really have time-traveled back to nineteen-twenty. I have no idea.

“Jesus Christ.” Vince slides my ankles from his shoulders until my legs are flat on the bed, spread open to accommodate him where he’s still buried inside of me.

Boring missionary style, if you will. And I’m not even helping because I’m boneless and sated and in no control of my limbs.

Then he kisses me and it’s not boring at all. His forearms are braced beside my head, holding some of his weight off of me. His hands are cupped under my head, and he kisses me like he means it. Like he’s not just fucking some random wife he picked up last night. He pumps into me several more times until he finds his own orgasm and he’s beautiful when he does. God help me, he’s so beautiful I am ruined for ever watching another man come.

When he’s done, after he’s pulled out of me and gotten off the bed to dispose of the condom, he comes back. He comes back and he pulls me on top of him so that my head is resting on his chest, his fingers wrapping around a lock of my hair. “I like it wavy,” he says, running his fingers through the tangled mess.