Captured(37)

Slowly, I plunge my fist around him, lifting, twisting my palm around his tip, sliding back down. He pounds a fist against the barn with a dull thud.

He was thinking of me? He couldn’t stop thinking about me? He was masturbating…to me? Why the hell is that such a turn-on?

“Tell me….” I whisper, pausing, my fist clenched around the root of him. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

“Your legs, around my waist. Your tits. How you tasted. The way your lips felt when we kissed. How—how wet and hot your * felt against me.” He growls deep in his chest. He moves, and I’m pressed back against the wall of the barn. “Your ass. Your eyes. The way your hands felt when you touched my ass.”

“I was thinking of you, too.” I lean into him, eyes closed, press my lips to his cheek, whisper in his ear. I squeeze his cock. “Of this.” I place my other hand around his body and slip it under his jeans, raking his ass with my nails. “Of this.”

“God, Reagan….”

I stroke him once, slowly, tip to root. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know — right or wrong, good or bad — I just know I couldn’t sleep, either, because I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I ache all over.”

“Me too. Everything is on fire.” His palm touches my stomach, over my shirt.

His fingers lift the hem, find my skin. I suck in my belly instinctively as his fingertips slide down. Under the elastic of the boxers. Through the thick thatch of my pubic hair. I’ve had no reason to trim there, not for a long time. He seems unaware or uncaring, so I hold in my apology for another time. I whimper as his long middle finger carves a path between the lips of my vagina, then curls in. A desperate breath as he drags his finger in a circle around my clit. My knees are weak, my lungs shaky and shuddering. His touch is fire; his touch is perfect. I’m kindling, and the catalytic heat of his touch ignites me. I stroke his length, gasping as he draws faster and faster circles around my throbbing clit. I suck in a whining whimper when he slicks a single finger into me, deep. Then adds a second.

Clouds part, and moonlight shines bright silver.

A frog trills.

Derek groans in my ear.

His cock pulsates in my fist, and I feel his hips drive, thrusting his girth through my grip. I wrench my eyes open and look down between our bodies. See his hand between my thighs, fingers moving, forearm muscles rippling as he caresses me into paroxysms. I can’t help but moan, both at the feelings he’s drawing from me and the way his iron-hard straining cock feels in my hand, soft yet hard, sliding through and pulling back as he starts to thrust unconsciously. I watch the pre-come bead on his head, smeared into my hand. My thighs shake and tremble as his middle and ring fingers curve in and find the upper, inner ridge deep inside me and rub it, his thumb pressing against the rigid and juice-wet button of my clit. His moving fingers make a sucking noise that should be embarrassing but is somehow unbearably hot.

“Fuck, Reagan. Fuck. I’m so close. I’m gonna come. It’s gonna be messy.”

“Me—me, too.”

His other hand leaves the barn wall, and he’s thrusting up into my fist, off-balance and demanding and urgent. He reaches up under my shirt and finds my boob, cups it, kneads it. My turn. I reach into his jeans and palm his tight, heavy balls, squeeze gently. He groans and loses his balance, tipping forward, into me. I take his weight and let him press me up against the wall.

“Derek…oh, god, Derek.”

“Right—right now. Ohhhhhh, oh, f*ck. Oh, god.” He thrusts, a slow grind.

I open my eyes, which I don’t remember closing. I grip his cock tight and stroke hard and relish down to the darkest corners of my soul the way his dick feels in my hand. Fascinated, I watch as the tip of his cock squeezes up and out of my fist. He spasms, and a thick white stream of semen spurts over my hand. Cupping his head with my other hand, I stroke him root to tip hard and fast, watching the jizz seep out between my fingers, hot and sticky and wet as he gushes again and again, cursing, and whispering my name.

And through it all his fingers inside me never slow, never stop. He thrusts his fingers into me, pulls them out, smears my juices onto my clit and circles, circles, and while I’m watching him come into my hand, I’m right there at the edge, whimpering, hips fluttering. He shoves his fingers into me again, and somehow that draws it out of me. I bite my lip to muffle a shriek, lean my forehead against his chest, and watch his cock thrust, smear his come down his length and keep stroking him, feeling my thighs tense as a rocket of intensity shoots through me, every muscle spasming, another breathless scream leaving my lips. I thrust my hips at him, grinding my * against his fingers. Arch my spine to press my throbbing tit into his hand, my entire body writhing, his fingers twisting and pinching my nipples, palm cupping my core, heel against my pudendum, fingers inside me, ring finger against my taint, pinky and index finger buried in the flesh and muscle of my inner thighs, hand working and moving.

“Ohgodohgodohgod, Derek, yes, f*ck, yes…oh…god….” My inner muscles clench and spasm, and something wet squirts out of me and over his hand.

He keeps going until I’m limp against him, batting his hand away because I can’t take any more; I’m too sensitive to be touched.

“Jesus Christ, Reagan,” he mumbles against my shoulder. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”