Page 65 of The Riskiest Move

“Fuck yes,” I husk.

“Lift your hips,” she instructs.

I quickly comply, and she shoves my sweatpants and boxers down to mid-thigh. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of my cock.

“Wow, Coop. Who knew you’ve been hiding that away for twenty-three years.”

My answering laugh turns into a choked groan when her hand closes around me once more.

“Tell me what you like.” She strokes me firmly.

I swallow hard, trying to form a coherent thought. “You’re doing… amazing.”

Scarlett’s thumb swipes over the tip of my cock, spreading around the pre-cum beading there. My hips buck, seeking more of her touch. She increases the pace, gliding her hand up and down my shaft, drawing my orgasm closer. I let out a strangled moan.

“That’s it. Let me hear you.”

The pressure builds, the tension between my thighs coiling tighter and tighter. Like an elastic stretched to capacity and ready to snap.

“I’m close,” I pant.

“Come for me, Coop,” she urges in a soft, seductive tone, sending me over the edge.

With a hoarse cry, I explode, my cum spilling over her hand and onto both of us. She strokes me through each wave of ecstasy until the last tremors have subsided.

I collapse on the bed beside her, trying to catch my breath. She reaches over to grab some tissues from the nightstand and then cleans us both up. She even helps me pull my pants back up.

“Holy shit. That was incredible,” I say, dragging a shaky hand through my hair.

She lies on my chest, her chin resting on her arms, and smiles. “That was fun.”

I pluck a lock of her hair from her shoulder and wind it around my finger. “I’m blown away.” I release her hair, letting it slip from my grasp.

Her smile turns into a full-fledged grin. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know what blown away means. Wait until we move on to the next stage of your sexual education.”

I’m ready!

“Should I fear for my life, teacher?” I joke.

She touches the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “All I can say is, hydrate well between now and then.”

I laugh. “Thanks for the warning.”

She raises to her knees, plucks her bra from the comforter, and fastens it back on.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

When her head pops through the neck of her shirt, she answers, “I’m getting ready to go home.”

“Why so soon?”

“You have practice early in the morning and I’m not going to be the reason you’re tired.” She climbs from the bed.

“It’s still early, though,” I protest, sitting up.

“You won’t change my mind. Besides, I have work to finish.”

“I can’t argue with that. I don’t want to get in the way of your work.”

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