Page 47 of Neat
“Oh myGod,” she cried, finally pulling back from my kiss to ride out the rest of her climax. She screamed and moaned, back arching, legs shaking again as she surrendered to the feeling.
When she was done, she fell limp, and I really did carry her full weight as I slowly, carefully, withdrew my fingers.
Mallory panted, letting her hands fall from where I’d told her to keep them above her head. She turned in my grasp, pulling at my shirt, my hair, my pants, like she needed me closer — and I obliged in every way possible, holding her to the door, my lips trailing over her slick neck.
“Holy fuck,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her forehead. I pulled back, locking eyes with her as she shook her head. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I…”
I chuckled, kissing her nose. “That was fucking hot.”
Mallory laughed, but as soon as the sound found her, it was gone again, her eyes heated, tongue rolling over her bottom lip. She fisted her hands in my shirt, pulling me to her for a long, hard kiss before she tugged on the fabric.
I leaned back, letting her pull the shirt over my head before I was kissing her again. She pushed us away from the door, her legs shaking as she backed me up to the couch. My legs hit the edge of it, but before I could sit, Mallory yanked at the hem of my sweatpants.
“Take these off.”
I smirked, eyeing her as she stepped away from me, stripping her own shirt over her head and flinging it somewhere across the room. “Yes, ma’am.”
We watched each other like animals about to fight rather than fuck as we stripped — me pulling my sweatpants and boxer briefs down my legs, her peeling her damp leggings to her ankles, kicking them the rest of the way off. Only a simple, black sports bra hid her breasts, and with one quick tug and maneuver of arms, it was over her head and on the floor, too.
I let my eyes devour her like she really was my prey, gaze sliding over the mountains and valleys of her goddess-like body. Her breasts were modest but round and plump, the peaks puckered and begging for my tongue. Her stomach was flat and toned, a dipped line running from the bottom of her rib cage down to just above her belly button — another trail begging to be licked. Tattoos that merely peeked out from the edges of her clothing before were now on full display — a phoenix starting at her hip and wrapping up her rib cage, a half-sleeve of flowers stretching from her elbow to her shoulder, a line of script highlighting the curve of her hip. Those lips I’d stared at for years were swollen, parted, her own eyes feasting on what she saw between my legs before they flicked up to mine.
She didn’t say a word, just pressed one hand hard into my chest and shoved. I fell back, bare ass hitting the couch cushions, and as soon as I was sitting, she was on top of me, her mouth hard on mine.
Andthat’swhen it all hit me.
Maybe it was her being on top, me submitting, her taking control. Maybe it was her slim waist between my hands, her lips on mine before they kissed a trail over my jaw, down my neck, and back up again. Maybe it was her paint-matted hair falling in a curtain over my face, or the slick heat of her sliding over my shaft, eliciting a guttural groan from me that sounded like something off National Geographic.
Whatever it was, it finally hit me.
I was kissing Mallory Scooter.
I was touching her. She was touchingme. It was bad. It was wrong. I needed to stop, to push her away, to rewind time and go back to when I would never even entertain that she could want me like this.
But it was too late.
My next breath was a shaky one, and now it wasmyhands that trembled as I held her, as she rocked her hips, coating me in her climax. She moaned when the tip of my cock brushed her sensitive clit, her eyes fluttering closed before they shot open again. In seconds, she was off me, digging in a drawer somewhere near where her bed was set up in the corner opposite the living room.
There were no walls in her studio apartment, just one giant, open space. Still, that distance between us was too far, and I found myself crossing it to meet her again, sliding my erection between the gap of her thighs just to feel her warmth again.
She sighed, falling back into me, and I flexed my hips again, fucking her thighs and somehow knowing just from that that fucking her pussy would be the end of me.
Mallory spun in my arms, holding up a shiny gold packet. “Condom,” she rasped, and then she pushed me back again — this time, into her bed.
I fell into the sheets, her bed unmade from when she’d climbed out of it that morning. I smelled her all around me — in the sheets, on the pillows, in her hair that fell over me as she straddled my lap again. This time, she rolled that condom down over my shaft, and then she placed her hands on my shoulders, her eyes wide and locked on mine as she lowered down onto my tip.
I hissed, inhaling a breath so hot it felt like smoke in my lungs.
Mallory dropped a little lower, the tip of me stretching her open again, and with each centimeter that she dropped, I swore the fire spread. I felt it in my lungs, my veins, every muscle and joint and organ burning alive with one all-encompassing thought.
Mine.
I was fucked.
I knew it when she took me in completely, when she paused there with me inside her, our eyes locked, her lips parted and my bleeding heart in her fucking hands. She’d taken a part of me, and given me a part ofher, and now — without the other — neither of us would be the same again.
Mallory’s breaths worked in time with her movements — an inhale each time she lifted, a shaky exhale each time she lowered — over and over, again and again, her hands braced on my shoulders, her eyes locked on mine. My grip was so tight on her hips I knew I’d leave a mark, but I couldn’t move them, couldn’t release for fear she’d disappear like a fantasy I’d had so many times.
Her pace was so slow, so torturous. I felt every centimeter of her walls pulsing around me, and the climax was right there, waiting to release, but never quite reached.
