Page 51 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
The sly look on her face softens, her eyes rounding. “Does it, now?” she whispers. Shaking her head a bit, which causes her breasts to sway, her smirk returns. “Where was I?” The hand not holding my dick finds my shoulder and applies pressure. “Oh yes. My patriotic tendencies.”
I let her push me down, my legs cocked and splayed wide on either side of her. The slice of pizza in my hand falls to the floor and I don’t even care as Jules pumps her hand up and down over my hard length.
“I love how patriotic you are,” I murmur, then gasp when her wrist does this kinky little twist at the top of my dick.
I curl up, my hand reaching under her arms to haul her closer. “Get on my dick, space cadet.” Her bare ass lands on my thighs. “Now.” I lie back and wait for her to follow orders.
Which is pretty ballsy of me, considering the vulnerable position I’m in right now and the fact that Jules doesn’t seem the type to take orders from anyone.
Lucky for me and my johnson, Jules salutes me with a “Yes, sir” before impaling herself on my dick.
She braces herself on my chest, swiveling her hips until fully seated.
Jules is hot and warm and so fucking sexy, I find myself counting the few freckles scattered on her thighs to keep from embarrassing myself.
Amidst greasy pizza and opened bottles of beer, without a napkin in sight, our gazes lock and my balls aren’t the only thing tightening. It isn’t the feeling of a woman on top of me, it’s the feeling I’m having knowing that woman is Jules that makes my chest cavity feel too small for the organ pumping hard inside it.
When she starts to move, slow and steady, I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on something other than her slick arousal easing the rocking motion of me inside her. Back and forth. Back and forth. I think of horses. Oil rights. Hell, even cow shit. Nothing helps.
Knowing my time is short, I focus on Jules’ pleasure. Remembering the reason she wore my shirt, I rub my thumbs over the flannel, abrading the sensitive points of her nipples with each pass. Her body stutters over my dick, her short nails digging into my pecs.
“Fuck. Yes. Do that. Don’t stop doing that,” Jules pants as she continues riding me, her pace slightly faster, but still maddeningly slow.
I could plant my feet on the mattress for leverage and thrust up like I did before. But I like this, being at her mercy. Her tantalizing, dripping mercy. It’s hell. It’s heaven. My chest gets tighter with each sway of torturous pleasure.
Losing my mind, and I think my heart, I pinch down hard on one nipple while my other hand slides down, my thumb rubbing her swollen clit.
“Oh my God oh my God oh my God…”
Jules’ chant ends when her thighs lock down on my sides, her knees a bruising punishment to my ribs. But the pain is welcome, letting me hold on a few more seconds as her climax squeezes around me. And then I’m following, my hands gripping her hips, grinding her pussy down on me as I come inside her.
Just as before, Jules’ body folds over mine, her curls tickling my neck when her head rests on my shoulder and my arms automatically wrap around her, holding her to me. And just as before, I’m amazed that this strong, capable woman wants to be held, and that she’s chosen me to do the holding.
“If I was still in the Air Force, I’d be court martialed,” Jules says after a few minutes have passed.
“I don’t follow.” I run my fingertips up and down her back under the flannel shirt.
Rising up, Jules looks down where we’re joined, my boxers still on. “I desecrated the flag.”
My laughter surprises me. And when Jules joins in, her face lighting up, an almost painful wave of happiness smacks me. Between the physical and the emotional hits I’ve taken tonight, I’ve never hurt so good in my life.
When the laughter dies, Jules wiggles off my dick and hops off the bed.
“Hey, wait. I’ll get you a towel, babe.” Her expression softens at the endearment I let fall. I struggle up, grimacing as my wet cock cools without her warm heat.
Waving her hand at me, she shuts me down. “No, no, you’ve already got your panties in a bunch, cowboy. Literally.” She laughs at her own joke. “No need for further acts of chivalry. I’ll clean up and bringyoua towel.”
I expect her to prance off, bare ass swaying to the sexy rhythm that must play in her head. And she does. But before that, she leans in, kissing me softly on the lips, lingering a moment before pulling back with a serious expression. “But thank you for the offer, um…”—her cheeks flush—“…babe.”
I smile at her uncharacteristic blush and can’t stop hoping that it, combined with that lingering chaste kiss and endearment, means that last night was just the start of something. Somethinggreat.
* * *
Jules
“Babe?”I mouth to myself in the mirror after doing the obligatory post-sex cleanup.
I don’t think I’ve ever called a guy babe before. I may have thrown out the term to Jackie, but my preferable pet name for her has always been hooker.
