Page 46 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Surprisingly, his voice overlays mine in volume, practically shaking the walls with the force of his own moan. The slick between my legs triples, and I begin to bear down on him, my breasts bouncing with each lurch of my body. He takes one hand and palms my tit, torquing my nipple with his fingers to get me to tick like a waiting time bomb. My mouth falls open in a series of high-pitched mewls, now competing with the viscous soundtrack of his cock sliding in and out of my cunt, and my eyes flush with tears the rougher he gets.
“Faster,” I order, so high on endorphins that stars begin to speckle my vision. “Need…faster.”
“Yeah? Is that what my good girl needs?”
I don’t get a word in before Bristol’s plows become nearly unbearable, working me so hard and fast that my legs are already sore. His cock—now primed with my cum—slips against my walls without resistance, extinguishing the fire inside me and leaving me with a comforting warmth. I’ve never felt this heat with anyone before. I’ve only ever felt it with Bristol. It can flare in times of tension, but it can also crackle and soothe in times of distress. And I may have let it burn me in the past, but this time is going to be different.
It has to be.
His fingers are still on my breast, kneading, pinching, driving me up the goddamn wall. I feel my head shift against the pillow and hear the headboard bang against the wall, but I’m so overwhelmed that the state of our environment hardly occupies any brain space. His hand slowly trails down my torso, halting at my lower abdomen and pressing down firmly. I squirm uncontrollably as my spine curves off the mattress, my nails finally breaking through the skin on his back.
With how much I’m quivering, I’m surprised my words aren’t an incoherent mess. “Oh, God. Oh, Bristol. It feels so good!”
He doesn’t falter. Hehasn’tfaltered at all, actually. I blame his stupid hockey stamina.
Exhaustion prowls on the outside of my peripheral, slowly closing in, but I breathe through the exertion and the sweat and the tears, taking the full extent of him. His dick flirts with my G-spot, and my pussy reciprocates his urgency with a stream that previews the floodgates waiting to open. I’m almost there. I can see peace on the horizon, cresting in a golden sheen, waiting to saturate the sky in an array of sepia tones.
“I know, angel. You’re doing so well. Can’t wait to fill this pretty pussy up.Mypretty pussy,” he drawls, undulating hiships, every muscle exquisitely detailed underneath the mood lighting like an Alexandre Cabanel painting.
I can barely hear our voices over the mixing of our arousals, over the underlying pants, over the lap of water below us. The pressure that’s been accumulating this entire time is close to overspilling, and the heat inside me intensifies into another fire—but this one is stronger, lasting, more persistent than the one that existed before.
I squeeze around a particularly rough pump, and Bristol’s arm shoots out to steady himself against the headboard. I finally see the first signs of fatigue wear down his shoulders, see the briny sweat dot his hairline, see the way his belly sucks in with each deep inhale. He’s just as close as I am.
“When I come inside you, you’re going to keep it in,” Bristol says gruffly, still bucking his cock into my cunt like he didn’t just give me the most impossible task in the world.
“What?” I breathe.
His teeth stay gritted, his biceps so strained that each protruding vein forms a topography of little rivers. “If any of it trickles out, I’m spanking you. Do you understand?”
I feel my head nod, giddy at the possibility of getting his handprint tattooed on my ass. Everything’s a blur. His head is nuzzled against my neck, and his dick is ruining me with a never-ending succession of hungry strokes. Tears finally wet my eyes—clumping on my lower lashes—and I’m spurting onto his cock before I realize my climax has even arrived. I cry out Bristol’s name in pure bliss, holding on to him like he’s the only person in the world who possesses the power to save me. He’s crashing right after me, roaring through his orgasm and spraying long, thick ropes of cum inside me.
Bristol rests the lower half of his body on me, so completely spent that he’s huffing for air and trying to regain his bearings. His cock softens inside me, and everything feels so good that Idon’t want him to pull out just yet. I don’t want him tostoptouching me.
He lifts his head to look me in the eyes, and slick strands of his hair are pasted to his forehead. Even while sweaty and spent, he still looks achingly handsome. “Are you okay?”
I have no idea how he flips that dominant switch of his so easily, but there’s no evidence of that guttural roughness in his tone anymore. All that exists is concern, compassion, and an equally sexy hoarseness from the straining of his vocal cords.
“Yeah,” I answer on an exhale, feeling the room spin.
Bristol slowly lowers the rest of his body onto me, and he knocks his forehead against the side of my cheek. “You were amazing, you know that? You’re always amazing.”
Delirium seems to instill itself in both of us, but mine works a tad bit faster as it crystallizes in my veins. We stay like this for a long, calm, silent period of time, and when Bristol does eventually pull out of me, his cum has cooled and congealed.
The absence of him hurts, hollows me out with a pick, and our combination of cum sullies the sheets.
Bristol looks down with a shake of his head. “What did I say?”
My traitorous, traitorous pussy loves the authority in his tone. “I…”
“Turn around. On your hands and knees,” he commands.
Still recovering from the best sex I’ve ever had, I had forgotten all about that little rule he made up before he blew the hinges off this whole fucking place.
I do as he says while arousal drips down the backs of my legs, and my fingers grab fistfuls of the sheets, anticipation stirring the flame deep in my stomach. I know I should hate being this submissive, but a dominant girl can appreciate a switch up, alright?
He doesn’t spank me immediately. He draws it out until mythighs start to tremble, and he traces the length of my spine with his finger, the other hand planted firmly on the side of my ass.
His nails drive into my flesh—probably as some form of revenge for fucking up his back. “You remember our safe word?”
