Page 113 of Whiskey Throttle
It’s our first time, bare.
The heat from her core already welcomes the tip of my dick. She stills. Her dark eyes drink me in, studying every one of my tattoos.
“Look at me, Babs.”
They snap to mine.
Connection, chemistry, and understanding. We have it all. All there in the pull between us. In the air we share. The stillness of both our bodies as we anticipate this new agreement. Forging a different path amidst the ruin that just was.
“I want what you want.”
My hips slowly push in, eliciting a satisfying exhalation and a deep groan from me. Without the condom, she’s warm, wet, and tight. Pulling me in as much as I’m pushing. The act itself feels like it takes forever, until I’m all the way in.
Her legs widen, allowing me to go deeper. Her hands pull me down on her, burying her underneath. I feel powerful. Strong and accepted. Knowing I’ve got her and she’s got me. All the bullshit aside. I have someone who wants me for who I am. Not all the other crap that comes with my life or legacy.
“You feel . . .”
She doesn’t finish, just connects kisses. Blazing a hot trail up the column of my neck, sucking on my Adam’s apple.
This is more intimate than the Hamptons. This is slower and more intense. As I move my ass, slowly pumping in and out of her, I know I won’t last. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Everything I’ve held back from others. Hidden behind my jovial playboy ways. Saved up for someone who deserves me. The real me.
“I feel what?”
I challenge her to describe what she’s feeling. Needing to her tell me. Needing the validation that I’m not the only one lost in us. The scent of her light fragrance floats up from her skin. Adding to the experience. Each thrust has us moaning in unison. Each pull out has her clenching her muscles to keep me inside. It’s torture and bliss.
“I feel every ridge of you. Every hard muscle.”
Her words are pressed against my skin. Licking, sucking, and teasing. My arm slides under her back. My hand clutches the back of her neck, needing her even closer. A huff of air, noisy and almost a complaint, leaves her lungs. But she only wraps her legs around my waist, hooking them together at my back.
My other hand tucks under her hip. The angle of her completely wrapped around me, while I’m smothering her, is fucking amazing.
“So damn deep.”
She echoes what I’m thinking. I continue thrusting, slow and steady, allowing her to contort against me for added friction. Her wet clit rubs against my bone. Probably adding to her pleasure.
“What else?”
I tuck my face into her neck, close my eyes, and breathe her in. She’s smashed to the mattress, clinging to me, but I won’t fuck her. Not this time. I need to make love to her. She needs to make love to me. An equal exchange.
My senses are heightened. Every one of them dialed into her. Every breath, grind, clutch. Every part where we are connected. Which is everywhere.
“Tell me, Babs.”
I stop, she does too. My lips touch her neck. Not kissing, just being.
“This is perfect,” she finally whispers.
I couldn’t agree more. I move again, faster. The climax in my balls is growing. Moving all the emotional stuff aside out of primal need.
“You’re perfect.”
The praise washes over me. I’ve heard it so many times before. Coming from her, it’s different. It means more. It means everything.
My knee slides up higher. Her ass rests against my thigh. Her wetness seeps onto my balls. It’s hot to have her react so strongly to me. To want me as much as I want her. Sweat collects over my body. Stabbing her with my cock repeatedly.
“I want to feel this always.”
The more she talks, the faster I get. Her words are tangled in moans. Her body tightens as it works against me. She’s right. This is perfect.
