Page 72 of Just the Tipsy
I’ve gone bare in the past with my ex, but that was different. I always pulled out anyway because she didn’t like to deal with cum after. I wasn’t going to be an asshole and ask if I could come inside her just once because the idea was so hot.
“I’ve been tested too, and everything was good,” I say, swallowing. “You’re fine with me…?”
If I even say the words, I’ll bring myself moments from losing it.
“I want you to cum inside me,” she says. “Please.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. And she doesn’t have to say please.
I push inside her tight, wet heat, sucking in a breath. The positioning of her legs makes it an even more snug fit, so snug that I have to pause for a second. Once I get control again, I fuck her hard and slow, grabbing her hips to get leverage. Her head falls back and she moans with every stroke.
I brace my hand on the back of the couch so I can look down at her. I still can’t believe she’s even real — so painfully beautiful, especially like this. Her bottom lip between her teeth, long, elegant neck exposed. The hot rush of affection at seeing her like this, in contrast to when we first started hooking up, slams into me like a truck.
I close my eyes, trying to shove the emotions out of this, but it barely helps.
I pull out and flip her onto her stomach, lifting her hips just enough to slide in. I press her down so she’s flat on her stomach, her favorite position. And one of mine, too. I love feeling her smaller body underneath me, and the way she tightens up just right.
“Waylon,” she whines, kicking against the couch when I slam into her.
“You can kick all you want. You’re not moving from this spot,” I say into her ear, my hand around the back of her neck firmly enough for her to feel it, but not enough to hurt her. “But you don’t want to move, do you? You want every hard stroke.”
She buries her face into the cushion and nods with a whimper. Her pussy is clenching around me so tightly that I think she might come, but I want to guarantee it.
I pull out and yank her hips back, burying my face into her pussy. She cries out, pushing back. Her taste is so good that I have to grip my cock to keep myself under control. I don’t stop until she shudders from head to toe, coming with a muffled cry.
I’m back inside her before her orgasm fully subsides, making her so much tighter than she was. I’m a goner, instantly, and losemyself inside her. It’s so intense that I lose every sense except for touch for a moment. I’ve never come so hard in my entire life.
Once my ears stop ringing, I slowly pull out. Seeing my cum drip out along her glistening wetness makes me groan. My cock throbs even though I just came.
I get my senses back and roll off the bed to get her a damp washcloth. But she ends up following me. I give her privacy to clean up, then she opens the door again. I catch my reflection in the mirror next to hers.
I look both sated and wound up, scratch marks on my shoulders, and she’s glowing, completely relaxed. Completely comfortable standing there naked, like we do this every day. Not trying to look a certain way or put on an act. Like a couple would.
“Your neck,” I murmur, brushing the mark I left when I held her down by the back of the neck. It’ll probably fade in a few hours. “I’m sorry — I didn’t know I was holding you that hard.”
“I liked it. And I would have told you otherwise if I didn’t,” she says, looking at the spot in the mirror. “I liked how rough you were in general.”
“Yeah?” I tuck some of her curls over her shoulder.
“Yeah. It was different.” She glances at the spot again, running her fingers over it. “And I don’t mind the mark.”
The mark makes me feel like she’s mine, even though she isn’t and she won’t be. Thinking I could keep her as a friend and not more was a fucking joke. Why did I let it go this far when I know better than to fall for anyone?
I let out a breath and push those thoughts into the back of my head. Maybe I can enjoy this for today and think about how to solve it later.
TWENTY-THREE
BIANCA
I got psychedabout Rose’s bachelorette party when she told me we were going to spend more time getting dressed than we would at the bar.
Not that I don’t want to go to the bar, but getting ready to go out has always been my favorite part. Once I feel like an outfit and makeup look have been seen enough, I’m done.
And to be honest, most of the clubs and parties I went to weren’t actually fun. People didn’t dance that much and we had to “make appearances” for whoever called the paparazzi on themselves that night.
I grab my dress, heels, gigantic bag of makeup, and overnight bag before heading over to Rose and Wes’s side of the duplex.
Rose answers the door, her braids up in a scarf. Music is blasting somewhere deep into the house.
