Page 5 of Ridin' Free
One night with a Stallion.
He unfastened the button at the top of his pants, lowered the zipper, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of both his chinos and his underwear. He shoved them halfway down his thighs, revealing yet another tattoo. His right thigh was adorned with a black and gray cow skull—decorative, colorful feathers hanging from its horns.
Twister sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Dick’s out, Phoenix. What now?”
Anxious for the ride I was certainly looking forward to, I didn’t hesitate.
I placed the condom in reaching distance on the bed, then gathered my skirt around my waist and crawled on top of him. He immediately sat up and reached for me—but I batted his hands away and shoved at his chest.
“I got this,” I told him.
“Okay,” he said with a smirk.
This time, when he leaned back, he folded his arms underneath his head and stared at me, his laughter still evident in his gaze.
I ignored it and got to work.
He’d already begun to harden; but as I took him in my hand, and he continued to swell, the heat of anticipation made itself known in my belly. I wasn’t one for hand jobs, but the closer he got to fully erect, the more excited I became. It wasn’t long before I needed both hands to feel all of him.
He was big. Longer than I’d had in quite some time, and wider than I’d hadever.
One night with a real man.
One night with a Stallion.
“Don’t worry. It’ll fit.”
I peeked up at him from beneath my lashes and rolled my eyes in response to the arrogant smile I found tugging at his mouth.
“Who said anything about bein’ worried?”
I gave him a squeeze, eliciting a grunt, then let him go, anxious to feel him—to coax my own arousal with the promise of what I was about to take.
I dragged my sex back and forth across his, and I swear he got even harder. It only took a couple passes before the sound of my wet pussy coating his cock reached my ears. I moaned softly—the mewl slipping past my inebriated filter.
“Fuck,” muttered Twister.
He pulled his hands out from beneath his head, reaching for my waist. Even flat on his back, his grip made me agitated, pulling me out of the moment.
I stopped my hips, took hold of his wrists, and pulled him away from me.
“I told you—I got it.”
He held his hands up, as if in surrender, and I nodded before reaching for the condom. I ripped it open with my teeth, extracted it, then dropped the packaging on the floor before I grabbed hold of his length.
I stroked him a few times, unable to help myself. His warm, hard, velvety dick was seriously turning me on. Part of me wanted to ride him just like this—hot and bare—but I knew that was the tequila talking.
When the cadence of his breath made me impatient, I covered him with the rubber and lifted onto my knees.
I lined him up with my entrance, then took my time easing him inside of me. As I descended, I let my head fall back, too busy enjoying the way he stretched me open and filled me to capacity to concern myself with something as trivial as holding up my own head.
For a moment, I didn’t move—I just felt him.
Fuck.
One night with a real man.
