Page 8 of Lesson Learned

“Stay still,” I order, and she stops moving, even the hitch of her chest ceasing for a few moments and an exquisite thrill of pleasure spins through me, hooking deep into my brain.

I release my grip and her arms dangle where I left them, not raising to push me away. No longer showing any signs of struggle.

Perfect.

Sweet and pliable.

I cup the side of her jaw in my hand, my thumb tracing the plump curve of her lower lip. When I exert pressure, her mouth opens to take it inside. Her wet tongue curls around, working against the pad of my thumb, massaging, sucking, drawing it deeper and my cock jumps, pulsing as it imagines her doing the same with him.

“That’s my good little angel,” I whisper, and her eyes widen at the praise. Her hips tilt towards me, rub against me, so good that I give a guttural groan, needing to sink into her. Already tiring of this tiny tease of foreplay.

We’re outside. In partial view of the street. This isn’t the time for whispered pleasantries or the tantalising slow dance of divested garments, one after the other until we’re both stripped bare.

With my free hand, I grab her arse, lifting her off the ground to grind her against me. The shudder of pleasure through her body is all the invitation I need.

“Spread your legs for me,” I command as I set her back on her feet.

She obeys the order as readily as the others, and I grab her under her right thigh, lifting it high to allow unfettered access. I pause, waiting for the reminder, the nudge about protection, but it doesn’t come.

Fuck it, then.

If she doesn’t need it, neither do I.

“Unzip me,” I order, eager to have her hands on me. She fumbles at my waistband, jerking at my belt, missing the head of the zipper with her clumsy fingers. Then she finds purchase, dragging it down, touching against me as her fingers grow more experienced by the second, growing bolder, pumping me, guiding me towards her entrance like she can’t stand another second without me inside her.

My back strains from bending to close the height gap. I scoop her up, pinning her against the filthy wall with my weight as she wraps her legs around me, our faces now level as I spread the lips of her pussy wide, ready to take me.

The first thrust wipes my mind bare; tight, wet, warm. Her eyes meet mine, widening with pleasure as I bury myself deep inside her. Better fitting than any glove. Tighter than I’m used to. So good, I slow, wanting to take my time, to commit each detail to my memory.

I rest buried inside her, her moan vibrating against my cheek. Her ankle presses me deeper. With her wrapped around me, our faces are level, her breath mingling with mine.

And here, where a gush of degradation would usually flow, I bite my lip. Another thrust and my head is warm, buzzing. Fizzing with gratitude. A quick shag in a back alley that, for a change, doesn’t seem dirty or cheap.

My skin aches to feel her naked against me and I tug at my buttons until my shirt gapes open, slide my free hand around her back to yank the zip of her dress. It catches and I’m too impatient to work it free so I tug at it, tearing the fabric until it sags, and I can drag it off her fantastic tits, the fabric pooling at her waist.

The touch of her bare skin sends a thousand shivers working through me. I clasp her close, luxuriating in the sensation, my brain humming in a way it hasn’t done in years.

Her hand moves, sliding across my hip to loop around my neck. Her head tilts forward, resting on my collarbone, her breath warming my chest.

A surge of possessiveness fills me, slipping into every corner, so full there’s no room for my rage, my railing against everything done to me in the past few years.

My body absorbs her heat. I tilt her head to the side so the glow from the street provides more clarity. The thump of music inside transforms into a guide, an aural instruction to match my thrusts.

I want more. One hand clutches her thigh, my fingertips digging in, while the other brushes her hair away so I can sink my teeth into her neck. Her groan vibrates into my gums, making my jaw tighten, pulling away a second before I’d draw blood, snapping my teeth to luxuriate in the sensation.

“Are you going to come for me?” I whisper, grabbing hanks of her hair and tugging, revelling in the elongated moan. “Do you want to come all over my hard cock?”

Her response is heavy breathing in my ear, the tilt of her hips, the jolt as she meets my thrust.

And her answer doesn’t matter. Whatever her plans, it’s too late for me. It’s all too good, too much, and I bury my mouth in the curve of her shoulder, muffling the wordless shout as I come inside her, thrusting again to pump my release as high into her as I can go.

My mind fills with visceral pleasure at the thought there’s nothing between us, that she’s full of me, full of my cum. So good I thrust again even though I’m softening, spent.

My hand releases her thigh, and it drops, her body sagging back against the wall as I remove my support. She didn’t get hers and I shouldn’t care, wouldn’t usually, but a sliver of guilt grows into remorse.

I’m shaking. I don’t know why.

A car passes, the headlights picking out Emilia’s delicate features. Drawn with a more experienced brush than Saski, my ex-wife. So different yet so much the same.

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