Page 70 of Swim To Me

Delilah tips her head back, exposing her throat, a pleasured gasp breaking free until she slaps a palm over her own mouth.

I don’t give either of us a second to adjust, the pleasure too much, too high, too fucking good.

Gripping the soft flesh of her waist, I pull back quickly and then snap my hips forward, pushing Delilah further and further along the leather seats until she reaches behind herself, latching onto the doorhandle, to stop her head from thumping against the interior.

“Grey, Grey, Grey… holy fuck,” she chants lowly, eyes squeezed tightly shut, teeth suddenly digging into her lower lip to hold back her moans.

I’m not fairing much better. She’s so fucking tight and hot and wet around me, milking my cock with her walls, keeping me inside of her, welcoming me in while I carve out a space for myself.

My own eyes roll into the back of my head as my stomach tightens, a spark of ecstasy zipping along the base of my spine, but I force myself to open them to watch Delilah’s tits bouncing in time with my hard thrusts.

Flattening one palm to the seat beneath us, I pinch at her nipple with my other hand, lifting the weight of her heavy flesh. “These fucking pretty tits. Can’t stop thinking about them, wanking off to them. Wanna fuck them, smear them in lube and spit and push myself between them… Would you let me, Delilah? Let me fuck your pretty tits sometime?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yesss.”

“Open your eyes, gorgeous. I’ve got to see you.”

Delilah’s eyes are glassy when she opens them, her corner lashes spiky with moisture. The look elicits something primal inside of me. I’m the one putting that look on her face, I want to be the only one to do that to her.

A too loud whine escapes Delilah’s, her thighs tightening around my waist, pussy clenching and I know she feels good, but not fucking good enough.

Reshuffling, I pull Delilah down until she rests in the cradle of my thighs, one hand flattening against her inner leg to spreadher, the other covering her mouth to muffle her noises. Not that I care how loud she is, she could be screaming for all I care, but I know Delilah would be embarrassed if she thought my driver could hear.

“Touch yourself, Delilah.”

Slim, slightly cold fingers wiggle their way between our writhing bodies, sweeping against the velvet length of my cock each time I pull out of her.

Her body clenches around me again, her free hand coming up to tightly grip the fingers covering her mouth until the colour of my flesh is mottled white.

“Let go. Let it happen.”

Wetness floods my cock, Delilah’s whole body tightening up and going ridged before she begins to shake. She bites at my fingers, smearing saliva, eyes wide, fixed on me.

I grit my own teeth, jaw ticking as my pleasure ripples through me with force, my balls drawing up tight. I spill inside Delilah with a groan of her name, unable to hold back.

Sweat cools in the creases of my skin and the nape of my neck when I come back to earth, staring down at Delilah like I’ve never seen her before.

She’s a fucking vision; big doe glassy eyes, mussed hair, rumpled clothes.

Pressing a kiss to my bitten fingertips in apology, Delilah pulls my hand away from her mouth and sits up, meeting me more than halfway for a sweet kiss.

I get the distinct impression she wants to say something, although I’m not sure what, so I stay quiet, waiting for words that don’t come.

When we pull apart, it’s with a wet squelch, my cum dripping from Delilah’s core onto the seats.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, fixing her underwear for her and then pulling up my own trousers. We switch seats to avoidsitting in the puddle, our backs now to the still closed partition window, feeling the steady glide of the car along the streets.

Delilah tucks herself back into my side with a content sigh, twining our hands together while our heart rates return back to normal.

I catalogue that sensation as the car eventually glides towards the Bayswater borough of London. Delilah steps out of the car first, squinting in the watery sunshine, and I follow, heading up the stairs and leaning against the wall of her apartment while she hunts in her handbag for her keys.

“Do you want to come in?”

I reach forward to push a curl of hair back behind her ear. “I would love too, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’m not overwhelmed, I just—”

“Maybe need some time to process?”

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