Page 88 of The Match Faker

He searches my face. “Do you want to?”

I nod, my heart pounding from the proposal I’ve sent out into the universe. “Have you?”

“Yes. Does that change your decision?”

I kiss him. Gentle, lingering, then pull him back to me. “Not at all.”

I still trust him with my body.

He rubs the head of his cock up and down my pussy, making himself wetter and wetter until the sound of our mutualslickness is an erotic rhythm between us. His cock bumps my clit over and over, until every pass pulls a moan from me, and I seek the contact with my hips. He slips into me that way, with my hips raised, my fingers spreading my lips wide to expose my clit to him.

We stop. Pleasure radiates through my body, from where my pussy sucks the head of his cock into me, up my hips, deep in the pit of my stomach. Pleasure reaches my toes, fills my throat.

Then he moves.

Nick is slow at first, though he doesn’t need to be. I am so slick he could slide right out of me. He stares at where he disappears inside me, his eyes huge in his face. I’m jealous. I want to see it, too.

“What do you see?” I ask, my voice strangled from the words trying to fit around the pleasure inside me.

He meets my eyes for a moment before looking back, his glasses still a bit askew on his face. “You’re wet. Glistening.”

He thrusts into me again and I arch my back. I wish there was a way to take more of him inside me, all of him. I want to be stretched to the point of pain, go beyond full to overflowing.

“Your pussy is so pink and plump.” His lips pop around the words. “And then, around here.” He glides his fingers up and down my lips stretched around him. “You’re pinker, darker.” He bites his lip, like it takes every ounce of self-control not to pull out of me and lick my cunt.

“Like this.” He skims his fingers across my nipples, then takes one nipple in his mouth as if to prove his point. I shudder, twist beneath him, fist his pillow, frustrated. His mouth feels good but it’s not enough, not what I want.

“Can you come again?” he asks.

I nod quickly. “Please,” I beg.

His thrusts come faster, harder. His fingers find my swollen clit. I spread myself further for him, guide his hand in therhythm I need. I’ve never been this shameless for my own pleasure before. But it’s not my fault. It’s his. He lets me be this way, hemakesme this way. He is unapologetic and he makes me think I can be that way, too.

I reach around his hips, grip his ass in my hands, angry with him, hating him. I leave handprints on his skin, nail marks down his back. I pull his head to mine by his hair. Kiss him with too much tongue and teeth, growl into his mouth. The pleasure builds until every part of me is swollen, until I’m choking on it. The bed shakes. He holds me in place, pinning me by my shoulder, his thumb playing a furious rhythm against my clit, the ridge of his cock dragging inside me. Pleasure pulls me apart, piece by piece, rips at my skin, seizing muscle. Frustrated tears fill my eyes, roll down my temples, because I want to come, so bad.

But if I do,whenI do, this will be over.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a whisper. “Hey.”

His thrusts slow, his grip on my body loosens. He wipes the tears from my skin with his thumb, disentangles my fingers from his hair. Nick kisses me, his body almost still inside mine, tonguing me in the same gentle way he pets between my legs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises. “I’ve always got you.”

With a rush of warmth under my skin, I come, like the gentle rasp of his voice is the last detail my body needed to fall over the edge. He pulls a sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan, from my lips as he fucks me through my orgasm. My clit and pussy pulse against and around him, but he doesn’t stop his slow, steady thrusts until I shudder and goose bumps rise against my skin.

I gasp. “Stop.”

He pulls out and the absence of him is almost as pleasure-painful as being filled by him, but I don’t have time to complain because in the next moment he flips me onto my stomach, pullsmy hips up, and spreads my legs. He pushes back into me, fucking with sharp, snapping thrusts of his hips, then stilling, groaning. His cock pulses inside me and the thought of his come filling me up sends something like aftershocks through me until I’m moaning with him.

Nick rests on his forearms over me, careful not to crush me completely in the bed, though that sounds nice. I don’t feel capable of much more than this facedown starfish on Nick’s bed. He kisses my shoulder, my hair, as his cock slowly softens inside me.

“I’m going to clean you up,” he says, and I nod. Facedown starfish can’t talk anyway.

He slips from me again and crawls down my body. I feel him behind me, kneeling between my spread legs and ass cheeks. He can probably seeeverything.

Who am I kidding? There’s no “probably” about it. He can see everything. But I can’t bring myself to care or feel ashamed, or embarrassed. Every time Nick puts his hands on me, it’s with reverence, worship.

His hands are gentle as he palms my cheeks and kneads the muscles of my lower back. The bed shifts as he moves, but instead of getting off the bed like I expect, he settles lower between my legs.

---