Page 7 of Whispers on the Water

“You do seem very comfortable,” I whisper. She nods, and I decide it’s now or never. With a wiggle, I push her underwear aside and let my finger tease her clit. Her gasp is like gasoline on a fire, and I plunge into her warmth. Her hips tilt up as her hands fly to the couch, fingers splayed as she finds something to grip onto.

“You like that?” I ask. She bites her lip, her eyes squeezed shut. Instead of answering with words, her knees fall to the side. I smile and add a second finger. The noises she lets loose, almost like she’s trying to form words, but failing and letting out incoherent moans instead, makes my cock leap excitedly in my pants. It’s incredibly sexy, but I know my body. If I want our night to last, I need to slow things down. Quickly, I pull my hand away. Her eyes snap open, her face scowling.

“You want more, Lady?” My tone is teasing, but her brows furrow.

“Stacy,” she corrects.

Clicking my tongue, I get up from the couch. “That’s not your name, is it?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. But really, I don’t care what her name is unless it’s something really weird like Mrs. Feces Shit Captain. I nearly laugh at my odd and juvenile sense of humor. But honestly, who am I to judge if a woman wants a little privacy? “I’ll call you whatever you want. What do you want, Fake-Stacy?”

There’s a sudden shift in the room as her eyes lock onto mine. A fire in her gaze, the gold around the edges of her irises brightening. This beautiful woman, reflecting my own desire back at me.

My cock jumps again, like a dog begging for a treat, and I have to keep myself from telling it to calm down out loud. For a moment, we both just look at each other.

I’m about to throw myself at her when she gets to her feet. Wide-eyed, I watch as she stands in front of me and turns around, giving me a view of her slender back and neck. Bringing her hair up with one hand, her other hand reaches behind and slowly unzips her dress.

It falls to the floor in a glorious swish of fabric. “Your move, Greg,” she says, casting a look over her shoulder. My eyes feel like they pop out of my head. If I was a cartoon wolf, I would be whistling loudly before letting my tongue flop out of my mouth.

She’s perfect. All toned muscle with a hint of lithe curves. Freckles everywhere on her golden skin. An obvious surfer. It’s all I can do to not throw her over my shoulder and race into my back bedroom.

Instead, I step closer and start kissing her shoulder again. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. I move to her neck and suck on the pulse point. Her moaning intensifies before she suddenly whips her body around. I find her lips again, and her tongue strokes into my mouth. Grabbing under her ass, I lift her off her feet.

She laughs into my mouth and wraps her legs around my waist. Her center is soaking, and I can feel it through my shirt. The idea that she is so ready for me only makes my grip tighten.

Thoughts muddle around in my head. Bedroom. Get her to the bedroom.

But on her next whimper, I know, we won’t make it to my bedroom. Instead, I lie her down on the couch, and the sweet smell of her swollen pussy floods my senses. Something akin to a carnal need pulses through me, and my cock is very unhappy at still being trapped in its pants prison.

I need her. I need to taste that smell, to feel her quiver and writhe against my tongue. Thankfully, she scoots back and lets her legs split apart. I’m done playing coy. My patience left with her dress. With a swift move, I yank her panties down and roughly grab her hips.

My tongue flicks out, teasing at her bare pussy. The touch sends her into a frenzy, her hips bucking up. I know this game well and put my hands on her stomach, holding her in place.

“Greg!” she yells. It’s a good yell. A great fucking yell. The kind that spurs me closer to the edge in an instant. I plunge my tongue deep inside her, swirling it as I let my nose wiggle against her clit.

“Fuck. Not yet,” she says. The demand isn’t for me. She’s yelling at her own body, begging herself not to let go, and that simply won’t do. I want to see it, want to feel her release against my mouth. Faster, I move, alternating between sucking at her pearl and tongue fucking her slit.

Deep in my soul, I feel this woman coming apart, but she’s got more to give. I know it, and I want to make certain she’s satisfied. My grip tightens on her stomach, and her entire body starts to spasm. Her core is tight as her legs start shaking. Wetness seeps from inside her, and I growl at the taste, a mixture of honey and spice. Perfect. So damn delicious.

Panting, she looks down, her eyes still full of longing. Before I can say or do anything, she reaches forward and unbuttons my pants, freeing my cock. It flops out of my briefs in all its magnificent glory. I’m not a shy man. I know I look good, maybe somewhat intimidating. But Fake-Stacy eyes my girth with a desire that makes my cock throb.

“Do you want it?” I ask, a grin on my lips still wet from her taste.

She flops back on the couch. “God, yes. Please, Greg.”

I move until I’m straddling her, pumping my cock as I do. “What about a condom?”

Her face changes to serious. “Do you need one? Cause I’m clean and have an IUD.”

“No, but if you don’t trust me, I’ll grab one.” She reaches up and grabs right onto my cock, the conversation over. As she strokes me, my eyes close, trying not to let nerves get in my way. I don’t usually trust a woman like this. But something about Fake-Stacy, the way she’s hesitant and unsure, makes me think she’s not one to get into bed with strangers easy or often.

Propping myself up with one hand, I lower myself down, and she lets go of my cock. With my other hand, I guide the tip to her clit. Rubbing against it, she starts writhing beneath me.

“Greg, fucking do it already,” she says in a husky voice. I can’t help it; I laugh. Never in all my years has a woman demanded something so confidently. But far be it for me to ignore a woman’s orders. I thrust into her.

She’s so tight and wet I almost blow as soon as I’m all the way inside. Though I don’t want to, I freeze and take a deep, shuddering breath. Finally, after counting to four and trying to think of old ladies playing naked baseball, I slowly let myself slide back.

But Fake-Stacy is done with slow. Her hands fly to my ass and push me back in. All my restraint is gone. The tingling is in my balls already; all I can do is pray I won’t disappoint. My pumps turn furious, pounding into her like I’m trying to drill into concrete with my diamond-steeled cock.

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