Page 38 of Deacon

Gently, I pull out halfway just to feel her grip me like she’s trying to keep me in. Then, I fuck into her, rutting my hips hard. The sounds of our bodies meeting, her wet cunt wrapped around my cock, fill the bedroom.

I thought I could make this romantic for her.

But it’s just dirty, visceral.

She takes it as I slam into her, ass shaking. Little whines, low moans, fall from her lips. My hand leaves her hair and grips her at the waist. Her curves are the prettiest thing I’ve ever touched—supple in some places, soft and round in others. I want to bite them hard enough to leave marks.

The bed hits the wall, over and over.

I catch flashes of her in the mirrors. Open mouth, pink tongue. Bright blue eyes, dark lashes like feathers. The pale underbelly of her throat, faint fingerprints on it. Full tits, the little curve of her lower stomach.

And when I look down, the way that perfect ass shakes and that pussy just takes me as I use it… It’s too much.

There’s nothing left in my head. I’m just pounding blood and desire.

I push her down onto her belly, lifting her hips until she’s on her knees so she’s spread with her spine arched. From this angle, I’m so fucking deep. I bend, kissing her shoulder. My hips pump. I swear, I’m up in this girl’s throat. By the sounds she’s making, she feels it too.

“Deacon,” she whimpers.

Oh God, she’s saying my name. A tingle shoots down my spine. I grip her hair, shoving her to the bed with her cheek against the quilt.Her eyes are wet, her lips swollen. I fuck harder, faster. Pleasure is a roaring inferno, but I can still stop it if I want.

I should ask if she wants me to pull out.

But I don’t.

Instead, I shove my cock so deep inside her, I can feel her cervix push back, and I come hard. The feeling is euphoric. Not once have I fucked a woman without a condom. Now, here I am, balls deep with nothing between us, emptying every drop of cum into her cunt.

I waited so long for this.

We both go still. Physically, I’m satisfied, but the rest of me is already wondering how I can get my mouth on her pussy. Slowly, I push myself upright. She sniffs, lifting her head. My cock is still hard, and she winces as I pull it out. A bit of my cum drips down her swollen pussy and hits the bed.

I swipe it with my finger and put it back inside.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She nods, sitting back on her heels. Her ass is so beautiful at this angle, round, soft. I’m distracted by it, and I don’t notice she’s looking at herself in the fractured mirrors.

She sniffs again. I catch her gaze in my reflection.

Her eyes are wet—does she regret me?

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” I say.

I go into the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on, and run a washcloth under warm water. When I return, she’s sitting against the headboard, forearm over her breasts. Her brows are creased. Her mouth is pressed together in a worried pout.

I zip my pants and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Can you open up for me?” I ask gently.

She bites her lip. A pink stain spreads over her nose and cheeks. For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. But then, her thighs part, and I ache in my pants at the sight of her battered little pussy, dripping cum onto my bed. She winces as I wipe her clean and set the rag aside.

I lean in, brushing her tangled curls back.

“I know you don’t want me putting my mouth on your pussy, but I want to touch it,” I say. “All you have to do is lay back and spread those perfect legs.”

Her breath hitches, eyes glittering.

“It should feel good for you too,” I say, keeping my voice low.

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