The Wild Side (The Wild Side #1)(24)

We ate together, and then she talked me into an afternoon of watching television.

It worked out well (though it was the last thing I’d wanted to do) because it let me work past some of my touching restraints, when I felt she was adequately distracted.

She was laughing at some god-awful reality show when she casually asked me to rub her neck.

Affection with a purpose I could do, I found.  It was a good way to break me in.  I put my efforts into rubbing her neck and shoulders until she was a limp puddle on my aching lap.

Finally she pulled my hands away with a laugh, tugging them over her shoulders so she could slowly kiss each of my knuckles.  “You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?” she asked fondly.

That I did not.  She’d hit that one square on the head.

I nuzzled my face into her hair and kissed my way to her temple.  I was getting the hang of it, though, this affection dance.  It was already starting to feel more natural.

“I’ve got to tell you, I’m kind of hoping this isn’t really the only kind of show you like,” I told her, hours into our marathon of horrible reality television.

She turned and smiled at me.  “Of course it isn’t, but I don’t want to turn on anything too fascinating.  I have to confess, I’m a bit of an attention whore, where you’re concerned, and I want your focus all on me.”

My eyes tried to bug out of my head.  “I don’t know what show on the planet you think could distract me from you.  I can’t even wrap my mind around that idea.”

She shrugged, wiggling deeper into my lap.

Into my very obvious erection.

“So we’re only watching this crap so I’ll pay attention to you?” I asked, feeling skeptical.  She couldn’t really think she needed a ploy like that to get my focus on her…could she?  I had her pegged as way more observant than that.

“It can’t hurt.”

I bit her neck and fondled her.  I’d show her focus.

I’d reached my non-sexual touching breaking point.

As though she knew it, without me even having to speak, she switched the music on, some sultry song with a heavy beat, with the female singer belting out some of the most obscene lyrics I’d ever heard.

“Did she just say he Monica Lewinskey’d all over her gown?” I asked, feeling old and a touch slow.

She giggled.  “Yes.  And he didn’t even bring a towel.”

That surprised a laugh out of me, but she shifted, arched her back, and it was cut off short.

I kept her firmly on my lap, facing away, and peeled her tight shirt up over her br**sts, her loose boxers down to her feet.

I yanked my sweatpants to my knees, and lifted her by the hips, my c**k seeking her slick entrance.  I pushed into her, my hands dragging her down by the h*ps until she let me in.

The music played on while I took her like that, as leisurely as I could manage, stopping occasionally, seated to the hilt, to play with her soft, round br**sts, and suck at her silky soft nape.  When I couldn’t hold back anymore, my hands went to her h*ps and I started thrusting in earnest again, my eyes closing in pleasure, jaw clenching with every one of her needy moans.

I gave full credit to all of my ejaculations the day before as I made her come again, and again, stopping to fondle her for every one of her delicious orgasms, still hard and throbbing inside of her.  My stamina, thank God, seemed to be well in hand again, at least for the moment.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, as she came down from another cock-clenching orgasm, her arms thrown up and back around my neck, pushing her lush br**sts into my busy hands.  “That was amazing.  You’re amazing.  I’ve never…where did you, how do you manage to…do it like this?”

I didn’t have any kind of an answer for that, except to feel a glowing pleasure.  I clasped her h*ps and bounced her some more on my abused cock, gritting my teeth to keep from coming.  Above all else, I wanted to give her pleasure.  The more the better.

I was a writer, but I’d never been any good at romantic phrases, not on paper or in life.  To make up for that, I wanted to make her feel with my body, the way she made me feel with her sweet, flattering words.

Somewhere along the way, her boxers had been kicked off, and she was spread wide, knees on the couch on either side of me.  I was slouched, h*ps on the edge of the sofa for a better angle.

I ran my hands along her outer thighs.  It was more than a little impressive how she kept the pose, spread that wide on top of me.

I grabbed her h*ps again and pumped into her hard, once, twice, absorbing her cries of ecstasy with profound satisfaction.

I rubbed at her ass, sliding my hands over her legs until I could massage her inner thighs.  “Am I stretching you too much like this?  You’re damn near doing splits.”

Her only response was to moan and shift on top of me, gyrating her hips, making my entire body clench in pleasure as her tight sheath worked me.  I’d have sworn I was deep enough I must be touching her cervix.  I jammed up hard, and hit a wall so solid that she convulsed on top of me.  Yeah, that was it.  I did it again, and again, but stopped when her cries began to sound alarmed.

“Am I hurting you?” I asked, my hands shaking.  I wouldn’t be able to hold myself off for much longer.