Page 122 of Tips and Trysts

Cora doesn’t hesitate. She rears her hand back and swings it against my cheek as hard as she can.

“FUCK,” I blurt out. “Holy fuck.” It’s fire on my skin, and god—this girl knows what’s good. I laugh before letting out a groan and shaking off the pain, but I never stop my thrusts. “I love you.”

I lift her off me and turn her around. She takes me in reverse now, shins on the bed. The arch of her back is otherworldly, and I grab a handful of her hair and yank her head back so she’s laying with her upper back curved and pressed to my chest, tits pointed at my ceiling.

I release her hair and hold my hand in front of her face. “Spit.”

She does—of course she does.

“Good girl. Up,” I instruct before I slap one of her ass cheeks with my other hand—the one not coated in her spit.

“Ev—” She’s pleading now, aching for release. Frustrated, she bounces her tight little body on me. “Baby, please—”

“Ride me,” is the response she gets. “Show me the tricks that earned you those diamonds. Prove how much you’ve learned from slutting around.”

Cora may never fully shake the need to prove she’s the best at everything she does. I’ve got the same problem. But when we use our obsessive, competitive edges like this, it’s a damn blessing. She rides me like it’s a contest, pussy moving in a blur, taking every fat inch of my cock and earning her climax.

I lower my hand.

Even though she knows it’s coming, she still moans when my fingertips press against her asshole. And while I work my finger into her, Cora nudges the plug with her fingertips. The motionsends a surge of pleasure through me—a low burn around my asshole unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Oh shit.” I throw my head back. “More.”

“So eager,” she replies, voice uneven from desperation but confident as usual. She runs an affectionate hand over my thigh. “More?” She tugs on the plug, inciting the most guttural groan I’ve ever made.

“More,” I beg—and now I’m the one pleading. “Please.”

She gives me more—and it’s all I can do to stay inside her instead of lifting her off my cock, putting her in my car, and driving her to city hall to marry the shit out of her.

But I know I have to get her there—that once we start the next part, my window to make her levitate is going to close.

So I fuck her.

My thrusts are brutal, unceasing, and relentless—and Cora cries out.

“I’m coming,” she manages to say. “Ev, I’m coming.”

I hold her through the climax, wanting so desperately to spill my load in her, but I have to wait. When she’s damn near limp from my dick, I slide her off me.

Cora is boneless and spent for all of five seconds. Then she rolls over, sweaty and messy-haired, and looks at the plug in my asshole.

I know she’s about to eat me alive.

Her delicate fingers work the plug out of me, twisting it—wielding it. When she finally gets it out, I’m wiggling with need.

Eyes locked on me, Cora throws the plug onto the floor and rises off the bed, standing over me. “Tell me you love me,” she murmurs, skimming the backs of her fingertips over my sweat damp forehead.

“I’d die for you, Cora.” I stare right into her eyes as I speak. “You know that.”

Affectionately, she traces my lips with her fingertip before walking to the end of the bed. I watch her, knowing what happens next, and feeling so ready.

The night I met Cora, I screwed up. I insulted her. I hurt her. A week later, those pictures I took were meant to be an offering. Atonement.

Those pictures were a curse. I fixated on them for months. I memorized every mark on her skin—and every ridge and bump on the strap-on silicone cock she wore that night.

Now, Cora picks up the leather and silicone setup from the end of the bed, and we’ve really come full circle.

Nine months ago, I photographed Cora wearing this very strap-on in an attempt to prove how sorry I was. Tonight, she’s going to wear this strap-on to show how much she loves me.

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