Page 105 of Hot Shot

Never.I draw her clit into my mouth and suck viciously. I’d beat the shit out of him first.

The sheets tangle around her leg, and I have to let her go to kick them off the bed, gruff and impatient at the inconvenience. When I’m back between her thighs, I splay her legs so I can see every slick fold, every inch of pink flesh, the tight hole where my cock belongs. I want to taste all of her. I want to know every ripple in the dark. I thought I did, but now that I’m here, I realize I know nothing.

I’d tell her, but I’m busy touching her. The drag of my tongue against her silky heat sets her hips bucking, separating us. I watch her pussy clench and my need surges, sending a rush of blood to my cock as I descend with a moan. My cock flexes, hard and tight, squeezing a pearly drop of come that trails down the flushed tip.

My arms curl under her thighs and clamp onto her hips so I can hold her still enough that we won’t be separated again, and when I close my lips over her clit, she breathes ayesthat sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

I need her. All of her. I need to take care of her, but I want to claim her as mine. I need to make her happy, but I want to take all of her too, my heart and my soul and my cock greedy for her. I wonder if she knows. I wonder if she can hear all the things I can’t say in the way I fuck her.

Like how I love her. How I’ve always loved her. How I want her to stay forever.

I won’t lose her again.

And I can’t tell her yet, not with words. Not until she’s ready. Not until she’s sure.

She cries out, panting and mewling, her breasts quivering and nipples tight and flushed and reaching. And I watch hercome undone, watch the pleasure shake and tremble through her, taste the sweetness of it on my tongue.

Her pussy is still pulsing when I let her go to climb up her body, suckling her nipple to buy time. But I’m hungry. Starving. Desperate. Rough when I hook one knee and draw it up, turn her, straddle her other leg. The tip of my cock finds her dripping and drives into her.

Her mouth flies open in a gasp before her lids flutter closed. And for a timeless moment, I fuck her with determination and intent, feeling everything. The clench of her snug flesh around my cock, her skin so soft beneath my hands. The graze of her toes, her feet bouncing gently as I slam into her, the sound of slapping skin.

Does she know how much I need her?

Does she know all the ways I love her?

If I pour myself into her, if I give her everything, will she know?

She looks up at me, a flush climbing her chest to her neck, pussy tightening around me. She’s going to come again. And knowing that, I do what I know she wants, give her body what it needs to let go, begging my cock to wait, to obey, not to let go until she does.

Her pussy is so tight, I’m met with resistance, her face pinching as if in pain, then shooting open. She comes with a frenzied cry that serves as my permission. With a deep moan, the pressure I’ve been fighting rises, climbing up my cock to explode from me. I fuck and grunt and pump into her with the world far away. My arms give way, and I collapse onto her, burying my face in her neck, her hair stuck to my lips and riding my breath with every pant.

There, seated deep inside her, with her arms around my neck and fingers in my hair, with whispers of adoration licking myears, the world is completely right. Everything is exactly where it should be, starting with me and her.

She strokes my hair as I find my way back to my body.

“I missed you,” I whisper against her skin.

“I missed you too.” Her voice is smoky and lush. “Every day you make me wish more and more that I never left. But if we’d stayed together, you’d never have had Cricket.”

“And you’d never have gone to Fiji.”

She laughs and kisses my temple. “You wouldn’t take me to Fiji, moneybags?”

“Alright, you might have gone to Fiji if you wanted to. Did you want to?”

“I mean, who wouldn’t want to go to Fiji?”

I push myself up, kissing her briefly as we separate. When I roll to my side, I prop my head on my hand, my leg hooking around hers, keeping her pressed against the length of my body.

“That’s not really an answer.”

Her mouth quirks, and she thinks about it. “It wasn’t my idea, if that’s what you mean.”

“How many trips were?”

Now she’s frowning. And I loathe that motherfucker all over again.

“I dunno,” she says. “There had to be at least one, right?”

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