Page 9 of New Year's Eve

Maybe we don’t need a holiday.

Maybe my Sprite likes this.

“Gavin, yes. God. Love. Oh, yes. There…”

Maybe she loves it. I let the wave of lust take over, let my hips do what they will as my weight pushes her down before I press up again. I’m the wave now, fucking her relentlessly into the bed as she hangs on tight to the pillow in front of her.

I kiss the back of her neck. She smells salty-sweet, like sleep and woman and sex. I love you so fucking much, Sprite, but it’s just a thought, because words are gone.

I’m a machine now. Hers. One purpose, her pleasure. I’m going to make her come and then I’ll get to lose myself.

Make her scream and then I can thunder my own guttural words as I spill my seed inside her.

Wait, wait, wait, my brain stutters as my balls draw tight. She’s shaking beneath me, her breath shallow and fast. I jack my knees wide, holding myself like a tripod as I reach my hand around the front of her body, snaking it between her and the bed to find her clit.

With her next grind down against the mattress, she tips over the edge and howls as a climax rips through her.

My own release tears right after her, like a predator hunting its prey.

I bury my face in the soft, sweet skin of her back.

Holy fuck.

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