Page 76 of One Pucking Secret
Lustful fingers grasp at my sleep shirt, yanking it over my head and tossing it aside. Our lips crash together once more, hungry,desperate, as if every kiss is both our first and our last.
Her hand roams over the bulge of my boxers, and a groan escapes me. No one knows my body like Chloe—the way her fingers explore me is a perfect mix of knowing and new. She’s mapped every inch of me, with both the thrill of discovery and the care of someone who knows exactly what I need.
Trailing my mouth down her body, I tug at her pajama bottoms, pulling them down in a slow revelation. Each kiss I plant along her hips and thighs is a brand, a mark of possession that sizzles against her heated skin. When the last barrier of her panties presents itself, I can’t help but smirk, tracing a finger along the damp cotton.
My fingers hook under the delicate strings of her panties, drawing them down as she lifts her hips in silent compliance. The fabric whispers its descent to the floor, and my hands can’t resist the siren call of her bare skin. I trace the softness of her center, reveling in the slick warmth that greets me.
“Oh,” she breathes out, a sound that stokes the fire within me.
Her own hands aren’t idle, deftly slipping beneath the elastic waistband of my boxerswith an intimacy born of numerous nights intertwined. With a swift tug from her, the last barrier between us falls away, and I kick my boxers aside. Her eyes, bright and hungry, lock onto mine as her hand wraps around me, causing a low groan to rumble in my throat.
“God, Wyatt.” She slides her hand up and down my shaft, a provocative dance of fingers that know every pulse and throb. It’s a grip tight enough to promise bliss, yet gentle enough to draw out the anticipation.
I can’t be still, not with her touch igniting me. My fingers find her, slipping into her heat—one, then two—eliciting a gasp that fractures the air.
“Oh God,” she cries softly, her insides clamping down on me in a rhythm as old as time. She’s velvet and fire, and I’m lost in the push and pull of our connection.
“Chloe.” Her name is both a plea and a declaration as her walls tighten around my fingers.
Slow, deliberate strokes explore and claim as her hand works me over, a maddening friction that drives me closer to the brink.
“Close your eyes,” I murmur, and she complies with a soft sigh, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she nestles into the silkpillowcase, a luxury that pales next to her smooth skin. Her obedience is a gift, one I cherish and intend to reward.
I descend, worshipful, my mouth seeking the heat of her, tasting the sweet evidence of her arousal. My fingers, still coated in her warmth, spread her wider, allowing my tongue to dance over her.
She’s responsive, alive under my touch, and when my lips find her clit, she bucks against me with an unrestrained.
“Fuck!” The word hangs in the air, a perfect note in our carnal dance.
I press one hand firmly on her thigh, pinning her to the bed, as if she might escape the pleasure I bestow. My mouth works her steadily, sucking and lapping at the bundle of nerves that hold her release captive.
“I’m so close,” she gasps, her breath hitching, her body tensing for the fall.
“Not so fast,” I command, pulling back, my fingers leaving her with a deliberate slowness that draws a plaintive moan from her lips. With a fluid motion, we’re on our sides. Her body aligned with mine, a mirror of desire. “I want to feel you come on more than just my fingers,” I declare, my voice low, thick with promise.
I slide into her with a single, seamless motion that has us both gasping. She’s hot and tight around me, a perfect fit that grips me like a vice.
“You take all of me so well. It’s like you were made just for me,” I murmur, lost in the sensation of being completely sheathed inside her.
She cranes her neck, seeking my lips, and I meet her halfway, our kiss deep and consuming. “Thrust,” she begs against my mouth, and I’m helpless to resist.
I smirk because I know exactly what she needs, what she craves. I draw back, only to push forward again, setting a rhythm that speaks directly to the heart of her pleasure. Every push, every pull is a stroke of love written in the language of flesh. We move together, two halves of a passionate whole, chasing the peak that looms on our horizon.
The rhythm we’ve built, just Chloe and me, shifts as I maneuver myself behind her. My hand finds the delicate column of her throat, a gentle but firm clasp that draws a gasp from her lips. The other hand ventures lower, fingertips dancing over her slick heat. Her moans fill the room, music to my ears.
“Still close?” I whisper, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. Her skin is hot against mine, our bodies a tangle of need.
“On the fucking edge,” she breathes out, words laced with an urgency that tighten my grip on her.
“Let’s push you all the way,” I growl, determination flooding me as I plunge into her with a force that has her crying out. My fingers circle her clit, coaxing the pleasure higher until it’s spiraling out of control.
Her body tenses beneath my touch, her climax building. With one final thrust, she shatters, waves of release crashing through her. Her moan is a sound of pure satisfaction, her body quivering with the aftershocks. I press my lips to the curve of her neck, savoring the taste of her skin.
Without pause, I gently flip her onto her back, urging her to surrender to the sensations. “Just relax,” I murmur, resuming my movements within her.
Her eyes are closed, lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly in flight. Her hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, as if anchoring herself to this moment.
“Shit, Chloe, you feel so good,” I confess, the rawness of my own need creeping into my voice. I can barely hold on, but I will for her.
