Page 125 of Stags

His features dissolved into a grin. “Wow, really? That’s… I don’t deserve you.”

“You do, though,” she said, and gave him a nudge.

She tried to undress in a slow and sexy manner, but she got caught up when she was peeling off her jeans, her legs all tangled in the fabric, and she ended up falling into his arms, a giggling and half-naked mess.

They squirmed up onto the bed together, her kicking off the remnants of her clothes and him stripping off his own, both of them laughing and kissing and pressing into each other.

He was hard; she could feel it. She feathered her hands over his chest and lower, lower, to touch him.

He tipped back his head, digging his antlers into the pillows, eyes shut, and let out little huffs of air.

He kissed the tips of her breasts, nipped them until her nipples turned stiff. He put his hand between her thighs, whispering that she should make noise whenever he touched something she liked, and she giggled and followed orders, and then she slipped off into a long, slow reverie of pleasure.

It was like being taken off into a warm, spring afternoon, on green rolling hills, all the trees covered in buds, a soft breeze riffling through the branches.

His fingers were teasing her in all the right spots now, because he’d paid attention and continued to touch her in only those spots, and now she was spread out before him on the bed, her knees open as he reached down and expertly pushed her closer to her pleasure.

But then, he suddenly stopped touching her. He rested his hand on her thigh, squeezing it. “I have an idea,” he said in a low voice.

She opened her eyes and rolled over onto her side to look at him. “What idea?”

“You know how, like, we were talking about the most sensitive parts of each other? I was thinking about, uh, rubbing them against each other.”

She considered and then nodded. “Okay.”

“I think if you…” He lay back on the bed and beckoned.

She saw what he meant, and so she climbed up over him to straddle him, her body over his. She had a moment of hesitation,Am I going to crush him?she thought, because she was thicker than he was. And then he seized her hips and tugged her against him, and she felt his strength, and she knew he could take it, and it went through her like a promise.

“There,” he said, and now his hard cock was against the slippery center of her, not inside, but rubbing her right there, and she reached down to sort of hold his hardness against her, to get it in the right place.

He let out an affected breath, moving his hips against her.

But this meant he slipped toward her opening, and she giggled, stopping him from going in yet. “Maybe let me?”

“Okay,” he panted.

She held the head of him against her clitoris as she moved her hips against him.

He gasped. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah?” she said. “For me, too.”

It was as if the breeze picked up, as if it became a bright wind, as if it began to nudge the buds off the trees, as if little petals of her pleasure began to be torn free, torn into a rush of wild, bright goodness. She moved her hips against the pleasure, against his own breathless sounds of enjoyment, both of them working with each other, both of them feeling their pleasure. She chased the breeze, chased it with her hips, chased it until she caught it. Then she pinned it down androdeit and when she finally climaxed, it was like all the buds burst off into the air to fall in surges of wondrous sweetness.

She lifted her hips, angling herself, and Stockton’s cock knew just where it wanted to settle. When she came back down, she sheathed him.

He let out a strangled sound. “I wanted…”

She was still coming. She clenched on him, each clench pulling him deeper up and deeper in, each clench seeming to send more buds of her pleasure wild into the spring air.

“I wanted to get you off like that,” he said.

“You did,” she said. A ripple of clenches went through her. “Feel that?” she panted.

He thrust up into her hard. “Oh, shit, seriously?”

“Seriously,” she said.

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