Page 87 of Wildest Dreams

When I was done, I used the tip of my cock to drag a smear of cum from her cheek into her mouth. She closed her mouth over the tip immediately, sucking it clean with an innocent smile.

Our eyes met.

“Thank you.” She kissed the slit of my penis.

Oh god. I was going to marry her for real if she continued this way.

This gave me the few minutes I needed to recoup. I scooted to the edge of the bench, lifted her by the ass, and hoisted her over me so her legs were slung over my shoulders and she was sitting on my face. I leaned against the quartz wall, internally acknowledging that I had the audacity to fuck my best friend’s sister in his own shower, in which he’d probably screwed his own wife countless times, and still I was beyond shame. Past redemption. The crux of my existence, it seemed these days, wasto fuck Dylan as much as I could for as long as I could. And I wasn’t even inside her yet.

“I’m unsteady.” Her palms flattened against the wall as I nuzzled her clit, rubbing it in circles with the tip of my nose. “What if I fa—ahhh.”

I licked her, butt crack to clit, gathering a fair helping of pussy juice to coat my tongue with. Fuck, she was delicious. Earthy, musky, sweet, and a little salty. Generally speaking, pussy tasted like a penny, but Dylan’s pussy tasted like the four hundred million I was going to make from Bruce Marshall.

“Ohhhh…” She began to ride my face shamelessly, no longer worried about falling off my shoulders.

I grabbed her ass in a death grip to keep her balanced, my pinkie traveling into her ass every now and then for a tease. I used my nose to swirl her clit, fucking her with my tongue. Nature had been kind to me and given me a long, strong tongue—one that could reach the tip of my nose…and serve as a good cock substitute. My tongue mercilessly thrust in and out of her as she cupped the back of my head and rode me like a cowgirl. I was already at half-mast again.

This woman was either going to be the death of me or the love of my life. No in-between about it.

“I’m coming.” She squirmed, trying to dodge my tongue, the sensation too much, too acute, for her.

“Yeah, baby. Come all over my face.”

I felt her muscles spasm around my tongue, her legs shaking along my back, toes curling against my skin, and I knew that sex with her was going to be like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

I brought her down gently after she came, holding her by the waist and setting her on my lap while I was still on the bench, her legs spread open on either side of me. She looked drunk on lust.I kissed her hard, claiming her sweet mouth, tasting my salty jizz on her plump lips.

“I cannot wait to claim that ass, sweetheart.” I reached between us to check how wet her pussy was. She was ready now. But I still needed a few minutes. “First, we’ll get your pussy adjusted to my size. Then we’re claiming this.” I pushed my middle finger gently into her tight hole.

She writhed and groaned, sinking her ass into my touch. The water grew colder around us.

“Ugh. The boiler’s a mess,” Dylan said apologetically. My finger was halfway inside her ass, and she was moving around to give it space, letting it stretch her out. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” I kissed the side of her neck. “Let’s move it outside. It’s probably better that we turn off the water in case Grav wakes up.”

She stilled in my arms, haunted eyes searching mine.

I frowned. “What?”

“You care.”

“Of course I care. I’m not a fucking monster.”

“I never said you were, but a few weeks ago, you were adamant you hated children.”

“Listen, Cosmos, I’d love to have this conversation with you, but maybe when I don’t have my finger up your ass and my dick begging to be inside you.”

She laughed, swatting my chest.

We hobbled outside, and I bent her over the vanity. Her fingers curled around the edges of the copper vessel sink.

“Are you sure I’m ready for it?”

“You gave birth,” I chuckled, taking my dick in my hand and guiding the fat, thick crown into her pussy from behind. I was counting on hitting her G-spot and making her forget about how big it was.

“I had a C-section,” she said. “I still have an ugly scar as a souvenir.”

“Nothing about you is ugly.” I pressed into her, and she hissed, arching toward me nonetheless.

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