Page 112 of Player
I’m feckin’ sure I don’t want it to be our last.
“Now you’ll know what I’m humming when you shoot your hot come down my throat.”
Those fighting words have me changing my mind and I’m goaded into action. She squeals as I lift her off the carpet, bouncing her in the air while I readjust our positions, with her thighs on my hips and breasts flush against my chest. I carry her over to the table by the window and, with one sweep of my arm, clear it off, sending glasses and a flowerpot flying, before I lay her down across the hard wood.
A whimper escapes her lips as I push a finger into her. I can do this all day, and every day. Withdrawing my hand, I hold up my glistening finger. “You ready for a ride to heaven and back?”
A ride to heaven before I go straight to hell.
“Please.”
I step forward and grab her hips, dragging her to the edge of the table. Lining her sweet pussy up with my cock.
“Fuck me, Finn.”
Using my hips, I spread her thighs wide before sinking two fingers into her. Spiraling them around and preparing her for my assault.
She moans, loving my touch.
Blood fills my cock until I’m harder than I’ve ever been. She always does this to me, her and her alone. Pushing me to the edge and making me want to lose control. Striking up this yearning in me to the point I don’t know which way is up or down.
I withdraw my fingers then, in slow circles, spread her moisture over her clit.
“Ah,” she moans, pressing her palms against the wood surface to support the eager arch of her hips.
I nudge the thick head against her and line up. “What do you want, Clarissa?” I demand, needing that filthy mouth of hers.
“You, Finn. Only you.”
I’m too startled to move, to think, to process her words, but she isn’t finished feckin’ with me. Thrusting forward, her lips part and my cock slips inside like it belongs there. Blood rushes to my head as my heart pounds a hole in my chest. She pushes forward another half inch, and then I lose my bloody mind.
Flexing, I shove deep, filling her with my hardness.
She screams.
The sound only fuels my hunger.
I drag my cock out then thrust, drag, and thrust, feeling her taking every feckin’ inch of me, riding her hard and deep. Each drive home forces her several inches back on the table and when that becomes enough, I crawl on top without breaking the frantic pace I’ve set, pounding into her full force. Hearing her cry out in pleasure as I fuck her like a man possessed.
I’m an animal. Grunting and moaning and cursing beneath my breath. Judging by the sounds she’s making, she’s no better.
I fuck her into the table.
I fuck her into tomorrow.
I fuck her into my goddamn soul.
And when she comes, so beautifully, so greedily, I feel it before I hear it. “God, I love you.”
I shout as I come, frantically thrusting into her as I shoot my seed deep.
We still, and I find I can’t move. The weight of what just happened pinning me in place. Aren’t women emotional after sex? Aren’t men supposed to just want to get going? How is it I feel like I just lost my first love? Why is it that the world could be falling to bloody pieces and I’d still want this moment to last?
The table creeks in warning then wobbles beneath us.
“Finn,” Clarissa shrieks.
And then we’re falling.
