Page 231 of Hide and Keep

One hand on that bent knee for stability, I use the other to hold his cock in place as I sink down, impaling myself on the rigid shaft.

We both let out guttural moans as I reach the bottom, my ass settled on his lower stomach. It feels like the first time…every time. I love Crue’s cock. I could take it and take it and take it, never, ever growing tired of it.

Voices on the other side of the door sound so close yet feel so far as the world outside of us blurs.

I immediately begin rolling my hips, grinding my clit against his upper thigh and making the desk creak.

It’s not quite the glide I was hoping for, so pushing his knee out a couple inches, I look down and spit. The puddle lands right above the space where his groin meets his thigh, then I mash his leg against my clit again, spreading the moisture around. The spit won’t last long but neither will I, not like this.

My body shudders over Crue’s from the increased sensation. It’s crazy how the smallest bit of lube can make such a big difference. I think that was part of the problem the first time Crue tried eating me out. With his tongue out of his mouth like that, it was probably drying out. Friction is great. Lubricated friction is superior.

Five fingertips dig into my ass as Crue also grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back until my chin’s high in the air, my breath flowing from my mouth in one long gust.

Goddess.

He mumbles something that sounds like his own command. Ride me, maybe. Or fuck me. Something short, sweet, and totally unnecessary.

My hips resume the previous motion, and I make sure to stick my ass out with each rotation before clenching my cheeks together to help grip Crue’s cock with my pussy walls.

We get a nice rhythm going, and just as I predicted, an orgasm tears through me not long after, hardly any notice whatsoever before I’m stalling out on top of Crue, all my muscles locking up as pleasure electrifies every single nerve ending I have.

With a growl, Crue thrusts up once, his body stiff as a board under me, his cock like a fountain inside of me.

Crue goes lax shortly after.

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was sexy,” I hear behind me and smile. I think I smile. My lips are numb, so it’s kinda hard to tell.

He releases my hair, and when I glance back at him, my underwear’s no longer in his mouth, but in his fist.

“I’m keeping these.”

I face forward again to hide an eye roll. Like I was going to put them back on anyway. They’re drenched.

I need Crue’s assistance to dismount without hurting either of us. A glob of cum falls out of my pussy during the transition and lands on the desk. We both stare at it, neither of us rushing to clean up the mess.

“It’s yours,” I tell him.

“Not all of it.”

“Your cum leaks. Mine clings. Check your balls.”

He actually glances down like he hasn’t already been made well aware of that fact.

While he’s distracted, I grab the sleeve of his jacket to use, but he yanks his arm away and gives me a lip snarl I just shrug at.

“Well, I’m not wearing as many clothes as you, even less now that you’ve stolen my underwear.”

Back on his feet, he lifts a small trash can up to the desk and aggressively swipes the cum into it before rubbing his palm along the inside of his jacket.

“What are you gonna do for panties?”

“Go without.” It’s not ideal considering I’ll be leaking his cum for a while, further proving that mess was definitely his.

“You’re in a skirt.”

“So?” I ask while fluffing my hair in the back.

Coming up behind me, he bats my hands away to fix it himself. After practicing all weekend—on me, not the mannequin—he’s improved greatly. He still can’t get it into a braid but that hasn’t stopped him from trying, or me letting him because I love his hands in my hair.

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