Page 73 of Whirlwind
“I need—Oh, fuck. I need something,” she stammers, her hips beginning to rock.
“You need something to fuck?” She hums at my question. “You want my tongue or my cock, Kit?”
18
Kit
He asks again when I don’t answer. It’s not that I’m afraid to say the word—it’s that I can’t decide. There’s so much to learn, to know, to try, to perfect.
I want the slide of his dick inside me, but I also love the way his mouth works me over. And whatever he’s been doing to my ass is so beyond anything I could imagine. Statistically, it’s not a high percentage of women who enjoy anal sex. Of those, most prefer anal surfacing, or shallowing, as opposed to penetration.
I wonder what demographic I’d fit into.
“Kit.” He bites high on my thigh between kisses. “Fine, I’ll decide—my cock it is. Do you have a condom?”
“No, but you said you were tested last week. Did you get the results?”
“Yes, clean. Are you okay with this?”
“Yes, please,” I say on a sigh, and he chuckles. Seconds later, he has one of my legs lifted on the bed and he slams inside from behind. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
The sensation of him raw is so different than it was the first time. Intimate in a new way, as if we couldn’t be closer or more connected.
Tyson traces my spine with his fingers—a light touch, almost a tickle, but not. A stark difference from the smart sting of his bite,yet it accomplishes something similar. He leans over me, licking and nibbling my shoulder.
“The way I feel when I’m inside you,” he whispers. I’m unable to tell if he’s talking to me or himself. Either way, I like hearing it. “It’s almost as good as when you smile at me.”
“Tyson,” I cry out, turning my face to his as best I can. He doesn’t know. He can’t know that he’s just said the sweetest thing I’ve ever been told. I don’t want him to know; I’ll keep my silly romanticism to myself. “Kiss me.”
“Anything you want,” he says, then seals his lips to mine. “Everything you want.”
He pulls out long enough to flip me around to my back, then, he’s pushing back in. My knees ride up over his hips and he stares down at me as he pistons in and out. Harder, faster. With a palm under my neck, he lifts my face to his and kisses me again, again, again.
“Tyson,” I repeat, my nails digging into the skin of his pecs.
“Fuck, yes, Kit. I’m not going to last much longer. I need to fill you up.”
“Oh, God. Please.”
“You need to come with me, love. We do this together.”
I slide a hand between us, administering what I need on my clit, all while my fingers skim his cock moving in and out. It’s enough—the feel of slick skin—more than enough to shove me over the edge.
“Come in me.”
“Fucking hell, Kit.” His body tenses around mine. After a handful more pumps, he’s doing what I asked. The warmth pouring from him to me is shocking ecstasy. I moan, and it spills more. “Holy shit, the things you do to me.”
“I think you did it to me,” I say when I catch my breath and he’s collapsed atop me.
“No. It’s you. You make it feel new again. I have no stamina with you,” he says, and I preen.
“You’re going to give me a complex if you keep saying such sweet things.”
“Good—you deserve to know how fucking perfect you are. Stay here.”
He pulls out, and I instantly decide I don’t like that very much, at all. He sees my grimace and apologizes as he rushes to my bathroom. A few minutes later, he returns with a wet washcloth and meticulously cleans me up.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling the bedding down and climbing into my covers. “Will you stay?”
