Page 71 of Curveball
I have so much more to share with her.
“You know what else is max?” I tease, though there’s not a damn thing funny about what I’m about to do to her.With her.
“For God’s sake, say it’s your staying power.”
Grinning, I yank her leg up by the knee and slap her sweet ass. She yelps, then surges up to kiss my lips, her mouth wide open and hungry, her tongue searching out mine, clutching herself to me with her hands clasping my shoulders. I push her so we’re both lying flat, our mouths fused as I shift her upward, toward the mound of pillows that some law of nature insists must be piled on a woman’s bed.
“Jesus, woman, tell me you have condoms in here,” I mutter into her mouth.
Her pause is slight, but I notice it, and if I need to stop kissing her to retrieve my wallet from my pants, my dick won’t be the only one weeping.
“No need,” she finally gasps out. “Pill. Clean. Damn it, Max, don’t stop!”
“Thank Christ,” I exclaim, and add a few muttered words about being clean and getting tested regularly, while she clamps her hands around the corded muscles of my forearms, then reaches below my waistline and strokes the length of my cock.
“This, Max. Now,” she demands in a rough voice, as if, yeah, this foreplay shit is great and all, but let’s get to the main attraction.
I’m totally on board.
I raise her hands over her head and trap them by the wrists in one of mine, then choose a long firm bolster from her selection.
“Lift your hips, baby,” I croon in a low voice, and she does. One-handed, I slide the pillow beneath her, raising her sweet pussy. Her fat, shimmering clit is peeking out, needy and ready for action, and I give it a tweak.
Palmer squeaks out a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan. She pulls her hands from my loosened grip and uses one fist to tighten around my dick. Gotta be honest, he’s a happy fucker right now and doesn’t mind the attention. Her other hand stretches to my chest, tracing my areolas and pinching a nipple. A shock of awareness arcs to my dick.
“Fuck, baby, my cock loved that. Now, what do you like, tummy or back?” Sex done right is always good, but I want this to be better than that for her. Better than merely satisfying. I want it to be what she likes best, desires most, dreams about. What makes her feel sexy and powerful. This is her show.
“Tummy, Max. I want it from behind.”
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I help her maneuver to her belly, propping her hips high with the pillow, her assthere,practicallyin my face, tempting me. Torturing me. Kneeling behind her, I rub my hand over one soft cheek, then the other. Her mass of curls hides her beautiful face from me, so I collect it at her scalp in one fist and tug tight while I stroke my length with the other and then notch the head of my dick at her entrance.
“Ready, baby?”
“Damn it, now.”
I give my girl what she wants, and slide home, filling her with my length. She gives me a scream that makes my ego smirk.
I stroke in and out of her, alternating my speed, the depth, slamming in and dragging my tip along her clit on the way out. Reaching under her to rub her breasts and pinch her nipples.
Palmer alternates between growling and huffing out the sweetest sounds. It doesn’t take long before her legs are quaking and her breathing quickens.
Do that.
Don’t stop.
Do it again.
She talks non-stop.
My Palmer Girl is bossy in the bedroom.
I love every dominant moment of it.
I’m heaving breaths, thrusting hard and sucking in air scented with our arousal. A film of perspiration dampens my skin. And then . . .
“Max . . .”
