Page 11 of Polished Off

I lift Jill into my arms, her legs curling around my hips without prompting. I’d thought to carry her to the bed. Make love to her properly. The way her sopping wet lips spread to nestle my erection between them when I take the first step has me revising my plans.

Instead of making it to the bedroom, which feels like a million steps away instead of the fifteen or so I know it is, I turn and walk us toward the nearest wall. Jill arches her body against me, writhing with each step until the painful head of my cock is notched at her entrance and she can sink down on me.

Every step forward impales her deeper and deeper on my shaft until it feels as if I can’t get any deeper. We’re in the middle of the living room, but I have to see. Need to see her tight hole stretched to the max around me. She leans back in my arms and we both look.

It’s obscene. Filthy. Thick, slippery cream from her arousal and my precum have mingled together to give my nearly purple cock a shine like a gemstone in the lamplight of the room. Her pink lips strain to accommodate my girth, nearly white with tension.

“You’re too big! I can’t… I can’t…” she whimpers.

“You can. Your body was made for me. Mine was made for you. Relax, baby, and let me in. I’ll make you feel so good.” I lift her a bit with my next step, sliding her off me until just the tip of my dick is lodged in her scorching clasp.

The final step to the wall gives me leverage to brace her and slide one hand between us to jiggle my fingers over her clit. There’s enough wetness between us that they glide over the tight ball of nerves with ease. The wall also gives Jill some control, allowing her a counterbalance to press down and take me deeper.

Together, we grind and rock, my hips swiveling to press her into the wall while hers arch to present her deepest recesses. Finally, the base of my cock presses against her mound, and I’m fully inside her.

“Look at that. My good girl is so perfect. You’re taking every inch of me. Now, you’re going to give me your orgasm, so I can fill up this pussy with every drop of cum I’ve been saving for you since you watched me unload it all for you this morning.”

Jill smirks at the reminder of how I’d been so desperate for her I couldn’t even get home before needing to rub one out. I don’t know if she realizes every orgasm I’ve had since the day we met has been hers, though she didn’t know. Maybe, one day, I’ll tell her. Right now, though, she’s going to give me the first of her orgasms that are for me.

“Come for me, baby. Give me what’s mine!” I take her mouth, working my tongue against hers in the same rhythm as I’m giving her my dick. My fingers fly over her clit fast while my hips and my mouth work her over at a punishing pace. Jill meets every snap of my hips with a roll of her own until our bodies crash together with every thrust.

I hold off my orgasm until hers crests, but it’s a near miss. The moment I feel the strangle of her inner muscles grabbing my shaft as if they’ll never let it go, I’m toast. Ropes of cum blast from me with enough force to have my legs shaking. I lock my knees to keep us upright until I’m satisfied Jill’s ridden out the last of her climax. Finally, I sink to my knees, my cock still solid inside her.

“It’s a good thing we’ve been dating for as long as we have,” I rasp, my breath still sharp pants.

“Why’s that?” she gasps back.

“It means it’s not too soon to tell you I love you.” When I woke up this morning, I never expected to speak that truth to her. I certainly wouldn’t have imagined the path to this moment would begin with me splashing jizz over her bare feet after getting caught jerking off.

Jill’s tawdry trivia she blurted this morning pops to mind, and I can’t hold back my grin.

“Guess we have International Masturbation Month to thank now that our onesomes can be twosomes.”

“That’s not punny,” she laughs, her core rippling over me as her muscles shake with it. We both groan, and my dick makes an attempt to rally.

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it really isn’t, Tater-head. But I love you anyway,” she says.

And that’s fine. I don’t need to be funny. I just need her.

Epilogue

JILL

1 YEAR LATER

My early-morning alarm drags me from a restless night of tossing and turning, and I fight myself not to hit snooze. For three days, Tate’s been out of town for an installation at a recently renovated museum, and sleeping in our bed alone has been rough. We FaceTime every night before saying goodnight, but nothing compares to sleeping with him wrapped around me.

Thankfully, he’s scheduled to be home today. Last night, before we whispered our final goodnights, he promised to be home for breakfast. I’ve got a surprise planned, though, so breakfast will have to wait. I bring up the app on my phone that shares our locations and see he’s about an hour west of town. The little icon for his phone shows he’s moving fast, so I need to be faster.

I got most of my plan ready last night before leaving the Diddled Fiddle, so this morning, I only need to grab a quick shower to rinse off and wake myself up before jogging from our loft above Bishop’s Glazing and over to the bar. I deactivate the alarm, knowing it’ll send an alert to his phone.

After he fixed my plumbing last year, and I caught him, ahem, clearing his own pipe, as well, he insisted on alerts going to his phone, too. Sure enough, my phone buzzes with an incoming text, seconds after I get the code to rearm the system keyed in. There’s no real need to reset the alarm, but I know Tate will realize it means I’m on site, and it’s not a break in or any reason to worry about my safety. Scaring him isn’t in the plan.

Baby, what set off the alarm? Everything okay? I’m almost there. I’ll meet you @ the Fiddle. - Tate

It’s all good, Tater-head. Just another plumbing issue. See you soon! -Me

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