Page 48 of Sweet and Salty

I smack him on his hard chest. Serves him right if I injure myself. “What are you doing?” I demand.

He grins, so broadly it lights up his entire face. “I like seeing you like this. Splayed out and ready. You’re gorgeous when you come.”

“Then why stop?” It sounds like a whine, but Jesse doesn’t seem to mind.

He runs one finger along my cheek bone, and it’s tender and wonderful, but not nearly enough because my pussy is aching for him. “Because I want to be inside you while I fuck with you the vibrator.” He drips some of the lube onto his fingers and applies some to the vibe before slipping a digit inside me. The stretch isn’t enough. “Maybe I want to hear you beg.”

Oh. Oh, hell yes. “Please. Please just fuck me, Jesse,” I groan.

“I love it when you swear. That pretty little mouth with those naughty words coming out.” He shudders as he removes his boxer shorts and sheathes up. “It makes me want to punish you a little.”

“You’re punishing me by keeping me waiting.”

He climbs onto the bed and settles himself between my thighs, then turns on the vibrator again. Its buzz sends a Pavlovian response to my clit. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“That had better be a promise—” I gasp as he enters me in one long stroke, stretching me wide. The feeling of him inside me is a delicious fullness.

Not to mention the pulse of the toy against my clit as he fucks me.

Shitpissfuck–

I can’t say anything after that. We find our rhythm without too much difficulty, alternating between long and short strokes, each one pressing me further open, drawing him deeper inside me until it feels like I’ll never be full again once he leaves.

“Open your eyes, angel.” Jesse lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me more. With the angle adjusted and the pressure from the toy on my clit, all I can see are stars in a black, velvety night. This is fucking glorious.

“No,” I whisper. “What if I do and this is all a dream?”

Jesse lifts the toy from me and bends forward, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss. I let my hands drift everywhere they want to touch. All over his glorious body, twirling through the short, soft curls on his chest, over the ridges of his shoulders. “This isn’t a dream, Laura. If it is, I’m right here with you.”

The orgasm building inside me feels momentous, like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon and picturing the potential fall.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers into my ear, bottoming out inside me, stretching me so wide I groan with abandon. He turns the toy back on and my entire body jolts when he presses it to my clit again. “I will, if you want. But this feels amazing, and I’m having trouble holding on. All I want is to come inside your perfect pussy. Do you want that, Laura?”

“Yes,” I think I say.

“Good.” His voice is a pulse on my ear as the toy throbs on my pussy. “Because I want you to come, sweetheart. I want you to rise off this bed, clench my cock, and scream all the profanity you want. Then we can do it all over again. Because now that I’ve had a taste, you’re all I want, Laura.”

This is too much. His words, the rasp of his beard against my cheek, the persistent buzz and press of the vibrator, his cock filling me, stretching me, tapping parts of me I haven’t realized feel so good.

There isn’t a magic formula to an orgasm, except for the one that combines him and me in this space and time. One beat I’m still rising, still standing on the ledge of pleasure, and the next, the pleasure rocks inside me. I can’t speak but it feels like a flood of emotions, like watching one of those time-lapse videos of the solar system. We are as expansive as the cosmos, moons circling each other.

He strokes me through my climax, keeping the vibe on my clit while he fills me. I clench around his cock, milking him during the pulsations, and he comes moments later, filling the condom. I have the sudden, wild urge to tell him to take the condom off. I want to feel every part of him. I want him to mark me, to erase all the blasé firsts and restart my love life with sensational memories. I want to build a life with him.

He holds me through my orgasm, kissing me gently as the hormones work their way through my bloodstream, murmuring soft things about how he loves my body, how good I feel, how wonderful I am.

That’s the moment I realize, even through the fog of mind-blowing sex, exactly how much trouble I am in.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Laura

I sitin front of my computer in the kitchen, wrapped up in my robe and attuned to any possible sounds from upstairs. Whatever happened last night feels like some miraculous fever dream, and I want to preserve the illusion that it isn’t over.

I comb through the photos from the wedding and post the best ones in a gallery on Frosting Monkey’s social media. The comments are mostly great, very supportive, people loving the cake.

Except for a few who all sound suspiciously like Chris.nice hack job, bet you got it from a grocery store.Et cetera.

I don’t scroll away from the hurtful comments. Why is it always so much easier to hear the negatives, to let those in, than the compliments?

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