Page 15 of Mountain Daddy's Girl
“Wait,” I murmur.
He raises an eyebrow.
“I want to see you too,” I say.
He grins then pulls his shirt, the buttons popping, shrugs it off to reveal his sculpted torso. Every muscle is tense, solid.
Grabbing his slick shaft, he guides his end to my slit again. I gasp as he pushes against my entrance. He’s so, so big. He groans as he tries to fit.
“Maybe the first-time nerves are getting the better of me,” I whisper. “I’m sor?—”
“Don’t apologize to me,” he growls. “Even this, Lila, rubbing my cock against your horny pussy like this, against your clit and lips, it’s gonna make me bust.”
I shift my hips in time with him, more pleasure teasing me as he grinds his thickness between my lips and over my clit.
“Yeah?” I moan.
“Fuck, yeah.Yeah. Push your tits together.”
I do as he says without hesitation. There’s something so sexy about him taking the lead.
“You want me to come all over your pussy,” he snarls.
“Yes, yes.” I gasp.
“Then say it. Beg.”
“Come on my pussy,” I whimper as he gets quicker, his shaft grinding burningly against my clit. “Please. I beg you. Come all over my pussy.”
“Fuck, fuck.” He can barely catch his breath. “I’m—going—to …”
“Please,” I moan. “Come on my …”
I can’t speak anymore. Neither can he. The friction is like a fire about to start. When his husky gasps turn throaty, I know he’s about to erupt. I lean up on my elbows, bouncing up and down with him.
As hot come blows out of his huge hard dick, my body gifts me with another orgasm, a crash like a wave breaking over a beach, slickness flowing out of me.
He comes all over my lower belly and my sex, then stumbles back, shuddering all over.
“Snapshot,” he murmurs. “You’re too damn perfect for a man like me.”
“Huh? What does that mean?”
He shakes his head, turns away. “You’re young and curvy and talented and so beautiful, you’re like a painting. The way you moan has me losing my mind. Speaking of minds, of personalities … you’ve got a good soul. Your passion is off the charts. You’re naïve in the cutest way.”
I stand, wipe down, find my clothes, pull them on. He looks for his shirt.
The silence which accompanies us as we get dressed isn’t awkward. It’s the most comfortable silence I’ve ever shared with a person.
When we’re clothed, I take his hands and look up into his eyes. Visions of standing like this at an altar flash across my dreamy thoughts.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Boone,” I say.
“I’m a savage who fights in a cage for cash. I was born dirt-poor to parents who were addicted to drugs. I spent my entire life fighting. First because I had to. Then because I liked it. Then to earn my living.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me?” I ask.
His answer is to crush me with a kiss, lifting me off my feet and placing me on the desk. I wrap my legs around him, grind up and down.
