Page 51 of For a Goode Time Call…
More, god. More.
His hand slid up my bare back, traced the S of my spine. Gathered the falling sheaf of my hair and tossed it over the other side. Out of the way. His touch slid over my waist, my side. I stopped breathing as he paused, and then cupped my breast. I ached at this tender touch. Whimpered as his rough paw brushed delicately over my nipple, bringing it erect.
“My nipples are very, very sensitive,” I whispered. “Like, crazy sensitive.”
He looked at me, curious. Aroused beyond all ability to even think clearly. Ever so gently, his eyes on mine, he pinched my nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting, flicking. “That so?”
I gasped, eyes squeezing shut as lightning seared through me, falling over to lay beside him, one thigh over his. “Ohhh god. Super, super, crazy sensitive. I’ve even had a breast orgasm, a couple times. Well, once, that was a real all the way orgasm. Couple other times it was just a heightening of a regular one.” A whimper, a moan. “Gave it to myself, though.”
He watched as I writhed under his touch. “Damn.”
I’d stopped stroking him, so lost was I in the wild electricity of his fingers on my breast. I wanted more, of him, of me. I guided his other hand to my breasts, and sighed in pure bliss as he toyed with me, as if he seemed to justknowexactly how I liked to be touched. My core was pressed against his thigh and hip, and I writhed against him. Felt him filling my hands, both of them, as I resumed my slow caresses of his huge arousal.
He was groaning, and his hips were lifting. I forced my eyes to open, watched him. He was lost in this as much as I was—more. Eyes closed, head tipped back, spine arched, hips flexing. Even my breasts were momentarily forgotten as I began increasing the speed of my caress.
Not too much, not too fast. I wanted this to last. Wanted him to remember. To have this seared into his memory. I wasn’t a jealous or possessive person, but with him, for some reason, I wanted nothing more than for this experience to scorch away all other memories. I wanted him to have no one in his mind, in his memory but me, no touch but mine rising in his mind whenever he was alone.
I rolled against him, crushing my tits against his ribs and taking his lips. He groaned, and his hands caught me, pressed gently but implacably against my nape, taking the kiss deeper. I felt him moan, felt the buzz and rumble of it, tasted his tongue and swallowed his groan. Kissed him deeper, demanding more from him. Wanting everything from him.
Stroked him, caressed him. Kissing and kissing, I put all my desire for him into the slow sensual grinding of my hands down his length, twisting on the way up, pausing at the top to flutter and twist and rub my thumb over the weeping tip. He lost the kiss, head flopping back.
“Ohhh god, Cass—oh god, Cass.” His voice was low, rough. “What the hell are you doin’ to me?”
There was no reason to answer that. Nothing to say to it. I just kissed his throat in response, under his chin where his beard line was. The hollow between his neck and shoulder. Stroking and caressing, as slowly as ever. Feeling him rising, feeling him swell in my hands, feeling his hips begin to pump. Kissed lower, his chest. His belly.
His hipbone.
“Cassie, ohhh god,” he whispered, every syllable piano-wire taut.
I pressed my lips to his ear. “Give it to me, Ink. Let me feel you come.” I went slow, slowing down as his hips began to flex rhythmically. “Show me how it feels for you. Let me hear you.”
“So—so fuckin’—” He lost the train of his thoughts. Started over. “So fuckin’ good, Cass. God, I’ve never felt this way before. God, Cassie—please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
I laughed. “Why the hell would I stop? I want you to come. Let me feel it, Ink. All of it.” I cupped his balls, stroked him root to tip, twisting at the top and gliding down, paused at the top and pulsed my fist around the plump round head quickly, until he tilted his hips up hard, and then I plunged down again, beginning the cycle over.
He curled his body upward, straining forward. “Ohhh shit, Cass. I’m—ahhh god, oh shit…I’m gonna come.”
I watched eagerly, everything inside me begging for me to climb on him, to take this huge magnificent incredible organ inside me and ride it until I couldn’t come any more. Or, to take as much of him into my mouth as I could manage, and taste all the cum that was about to spurt out of him, swallow it all and milk for more. I wanted to make him lose his mind. I wanted be all he could ever think about. I wanted him to lose control so beautifully that he just had to take me, to have more of me. The urge to come the only thing he could even imagine was all-consuming. I wanted more than anything to just behis, and the sudden ferocity of that need scared me stupid.
So I did none of the things I really wanted to do.
I don’t think I’d given a handjob since high school, but it was just the only thing possible. Anything else would be going too far, too soon, for him and for me.
But I was absolutely ravenous for him. For his release. For his wildness. For his raw unfiltered masculine climax.
He growled, an ursine snarl of exertion, flexing into my hand. Wanting more. Needing me to give him more, to take him there.
Ink flopped back to the grass, pressing his heels into the dirt and pushing his hips up. Groaning, long and low and feral. I kept going, slowly, twisting downward and fluttering upward. Never the same thing twice, until I felt him pulse and twitch, heard his breath catch and his voice break.
“Cass…” a broken whisper, my name chanted. “Cass, Cass, Cassie, god, Cassie…”
“Yes, Ink, for you. Just for you. All for you.” Faster, then, feeling him reach the utter edge. “Give me all of you, Ink. Right now. Come for me. Come all over my hands. I want to feel it. I want it. I want you, Ink. I want you. I wantyou.” I really had no clue what I was saying, or why, just that I knew he needed my voice, needed to hear me. How I knew I couldn’t have said, but I knew.
He shouted, a hoarse, guttural, wordless cry as he came. At the moment of his release, his eyes snapped open and met mine, and I didn’t look away, held his gaze as he came all over his stomach and my hands, spurting again and again as I continued stroking him until he had nothing else to give.
Our eyes locked, a sticky mess all over him and me both, he just stared. Seeming amazed.
I ached, oh how I ached.
