Page 74 of Hot Shot
Blake
I don’t remember the last time I had sex. Don’t remember the guy. But then none of my previous sexual encounters were memorable. And even if they were, Bran would be wiping my memory clean of anyone or anything before this.
I know my own body, have given myself pleasure whenever the urge struck, but he seems to have a direct line to—insider knowledge of—every erogenous point from my head to my toes.
And he’s hitting every one of them.
His lips are soft and brushing, then hard and pressing. His hands, sweeping and slow, then gripping and fast. It’s like he can’t decide how he wants to touch me—where he wants to touch me—from one second to the next.
The quick shift in sensation, the moans of pleasure rushing over my skin, the sound of my own heartbeat pulsing in my ears, has my insides coiling tighter and tighter. Heat throbs in my pussy, liquid seeps from my core, and I can’t stand the wait, don’t want it to end.
I’m writhing beneath him, searching for the right pressure, the right spot, my hands clawing at his shoulders to pull him closer, my legs wrapping around his to hold him against me harder.
“Bran.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my belly, his tongue tickling my skin. “I just need to taste you.”
“I can’t wait.” As much as I want to feel his mouth on me, I want to feel him deep inside more. “I want you now.”
He nips my hip. “You have me.”
“No. I want—” Air rushes through my teeth, choking off my words, when his tongue swipes up the center of my pussy.
He didn’t lie. He’s not clueless. He knows what I want, what I need, before I do; before I have a chance to enjoy each touch he’s giving me another, a different one, a new sensation that has my belly twisting tighter.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do more than hold on, and hold on I do. My hands on his head, my fingers tangled in his hair.
And when he adds his fingers to the mix, I’m done. Arching up and crying out, I ride the most intense orgasm of my life.
I’m breathless and boneless, and when his mouth lands on mine, the taste of me on his lips, his cock pressing into my clenching flesh, I open my legs wider, urge him deeper.
I can’t articulate my thoughts because Bran’s mouth hasn’t left mine, but he doesn’t need a verbal clue; he’s either well aware of my needs or handling his own.
With a brutal shove, he thrusts his cock deep inside me. There’s an ache of need, of pain, of pleasure. A second of panic. Then he pulls out, pushes in, pulls out, pushes in, and I’m lost to the frantic rhythm he sets.
A dance as old as time we’ve never engaged in before but seem to know with a lifetime of knowledge.
It isn’t like anything I remember. Like anything I could have imagined.
His tongue mimics his cock, racing in and out of my mouth, taking—giving.
Heat curls in my pussy, a pounding swirl of pleasure that consumes every part of me. A tingling twist, a hollow swoop, and I’m losing myself again.
A surprised cry bursts from me into him and not a second later he tenses, his body rigid on mine, his cock buried deeper than before.
With a grunt he jerks, and drenching heat explodes inside me.
I don’t know how we move, when we move, but we’re pressed together on our sides, breathing hard and holding tight.
I can’t find words.
Don’t know why I’m trying.
What just happened says more than any words I can come up with.
“I knew it would be like this.”
“Hmm…” I barely manage a sound.
