Page 115 of Pucked Up Plans
My sight zeroes in on the glistening wetness. Wasting no time, my tongue finds home in her slit, licking and tasting her pussy. Her unique flavor bursts on my tongue, encouraging me to continue. To lap up every bit of sweetness, every drop spilling out.
I set a leisurely pace, thoroughly fucking her with my tongue before inserting my fingers. Tate mewls, moans, and groans at my assault. My cock hardens with each new sound, precum leaking out of the tip. When her thighs try to close against my head, my hands hold them open while I work, one hand splayed on each thigh. She can make all the noises she wants, but I require space to ensure her orgasm hits her.
“I’m super close. Like so close, I can taste it. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Make me come, Walsh. Make me see stars.”
Invigorated by her requests, I go to town.
Swirling my tongue around her slit.
Sucking her clit into my mouth, then flattening my tongue against the tight bud.
Adding a finger inside her.
I’m rewarded with incoherent sounds as she detonates. Her hips rise off the bed, falling with a thump. Her lower body writhes in need as my tongue never lets up. A splash of wetness coats it as her moans louden. My lips curl into a smile against her at the volume level.
Uninhabited and free to be as loud as she wants, she’s delivering. Thankful for the time alone, I’d hate to shush her.
Her noises egg me on, lasting until she’s spent. My cock painfully hard, he impatiently waits his turn. To be inside her again. To give her another orgasm on the heels of this one. To score in overtime.
I lick until there’s nothing left, until every trace of her wetness disappears. Her chest heaves with deep breaths as her body comes down from the high.
“Stars?” I inquire.
“A night sky,” she breathes, her tone panty. “On a clear night in Vermont but even more twinkling in Kansas.”
I inwardly pat myself on the back for pleasuring her.
“Ready for more?”
“Gonna need a few minutes.”
Her words crush my cock’s ego, but the brain in my head urges me to lie down next to her. Slipping my arm underneath her, I ply her rag doll body to me. She comes easily—whether because she wants to or doesn’t have a choice against the way I draw her in. Her sluggish smile informs it’s probably the former. My fingers draw lazy circles over her breasts.
“Walsh, you’re too good to me. Too good for me.” Her head tilts back and hooded eyes peer at me. Sated after her orgasm, they shine with an unfamiliar emotion.
I brush a stray hair off her forehead. “I aim to please.” I can’t help the corny cliché, but I can’t confess what’s on my mind. She’s the one who’s too good for me. Not the other way around.
“Kiss me.” Her demand is too hard to ignore, the allure of kissing Tate too difficult to reject.
“Thought you needed some time.”
Her left shoulder shrugs. “I’m not sure what I need. Being here with you, wrapped in your arms, only having tonight?—”
“But we have all night,” I interrupt and remind her. “We could go at it until the wee hours of morning.”
“Hence my dilemma. I want it all. The sex, the kissing, the cuddling, the recovery time. I’m selfish that way.”
“And I’m unselfish enough to give it to you.”
I fuse my lips over hers, swallowing the surprised moan escaping her lips. Her tongue snakes its way into my mouth, tangling with mine, battling for control. I yield to her, not able to deny the woman what she craves. I don’t need control of the kiss but am a happy participant.
For what feels like hours, our mouths meld together, kissing, nipping, nibbling. Each kiss with Tate is better than the last. As much as a forbidden kiss—hidden from the kids—brings its own magnetism, there’s something unique about this kiss. A freedom of sorts, knowing we don’t have to rush, we don’t have to deny ourselves the pleasure. Though it leads to more, the kiss is unhurried, relaxed, and lazy. Almost as if I was put on this earth to kiss Tate and have her kiss me back.
Tate pulls away first, breathless when she speaks. “I want you. Fuck me, Walsh.” She nibbles her bottom lip into her mouth, spurring me into action.
Faster than a winger can take the puck down the ice, I sheathe myself and line up at her entrance, my body caging hers. At her nod, I thrust in. A sense of overwhelming relief sweeps through, a coming home, a shooting for the goal and it hitting the net.
As much as I want to savor this feeling, this intimacy with Tate, I’m on edge and ready to blow. But she deserves another orgasm, and I want to give it to her before my own.
