Page 54 of Synced to Us

Lowering down, I place my pussy near his balls, and then I start a teasing glide up and down, but not letting him in, my slickness creating a luxurious sheen on his shaft.

“Oh—oh, my fuck,” Wyn stutters and kisses me senseless as my folds cup his length and he takes over the ride.

I slide over the tip of him, collecting those delicious, pearlescent drops, almost letting him in this time, but not quite.

Wyn moans into my mouth, his cock pulsing beneath me as he tries to keep himself under control. It’s almost too much for me—all I’m thinking of is driving his dick the rest of the way in, filling me completely, pleasuring endlessly.

It’s been so long since I’ve had this. Whatever this is.

“Dee,” Wyn grunts, sucking on my lower lip. “Fucking let me in.”

I hump him faster, length of his cock so slick as it’s pressed against his stomach, it’s like my personal waterslide as the pressure inside me builds, my thighs contract, and—

“Oh, hell no. Not without me,” Wyn growls. He bends forward, arching an arm in front of me and to the passenger side dash. After flicking the lever, it falls open and he rifles through until there’s a crunch of wrapping between his fingers. Wyn falls back in his seat, ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth. The delay takes about five seconds, but I’m aching for him to be ready, for us to fuck.

Wyn has the same idea, because with the most determination I’ve ever seen cross his face, he suits up, repositions, then drives into me as soon as I rise onto my knees.

There’s no time to appreciate his girth or the delicious stretch that happens to accommodate him. His thrusts are frantic, my breasts bounce in time to our need, and I move with him, just as desperate to chase an orgasm.

Clutching his shoulders, I meet every one of his pumps with one of my own. Our skin smacks hard into the night. My nails rake down his chest. Our chests heave, but we keep finding each other’s mouths, claiming, biting, moaning.

A smack rings out, different from our pounding. While my lips are on his, my eyes widen.

Wyn rumbles, “Do you want it again?”

I smile impishly. “Yes.”

He spanks me again, this time on the other ass cheek.

“Harder,” I say.

Wyn does, the sound a satisfying crack against my ears.

“Now do it while still fucking me,” I whisper, my core growing hot.

Wyn lets loose another spank. He’s barely able himself in control as he bucks beneath me. I follow suit, letting the heat build and build.

He rubs my clit while I come, sending pleasure into every piece of me as I clutch the headrest, arch my back, and cry out.

Wyn sets his jaw and releases a gritted yell as his dick spasms, and I clench around him.

I have to keep bracing myself, unable to stay straight, to do anything but turn into a sated puddle as his orgasm finds its mark.

Wyn shudders under me, but once he’s done, pulls me against him.

His heart pounds near my ear. The scratch marks I made on his chest are glaringly red from this vantage point.

And he’s still inside me.

“Wyn—”

“Shh.” He smooths back my hair with one hand and moves to cup my ass cheek with the other. “Let’s just be. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I need a minute.”

His dick twitches inside me, as if seconding his opinion.

I don’t usually linger. That was my number one rule—fuck him, and then clothes back on. No intimacy, pillow talk, or anything remotely close to coupling. This wasn’t just for my clients. It was for my relationships, too, if they can be called that.

Wyn’s arm falls heavy across the backs of my shoulders. He breathes deep, the last of the lake water drying with the sweat of our sex. He smells good. Feels even better.

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