Page 15 of Frog Hog

He hums in appreciation as he laps at my wet pussy and continues the same pace with his fingers writhing inside me. I let go completely, seeing stars and flashes of light as every part of my body tingles in release. I scream, and it’s not his name, because who remembers names when they’re coming like a goddamn freight train? I claw at the seat that’s digging in my back with one hand, and fist his hair with the other. Gentleness isn’t on my mind and he casually removes my hand before I come away with scalp.

My foot is propped on the door and I push away automatically when the sensations are too much to bear. Slowly, I open my eyes and peek at Hutch. His devilish smile is now a smug, self-satisfied smile. Lips shining in the dim light, he says, “Who was that? Vince who? Oh, Hutch. That’s what you were saying.” My breathing is still ragged, my stomach rising and falling in a furious, well-pleased pace.

“You win today. You win,” I gasp.

He chuckles and leans over me to fish around in the center console. He comes back with a condom in one hand. I tell him I’m on the pill as he rolls the condom down his cock. I readjust, because now he’s sitting, bare assed might I add, on the seat, facing forward.

“Get on top,” he says, nodding his chin to his erection. “And you better fuck me like you mean it because I’ve given you two orgasms today. Pay me back.” His words do funny things to my insides. They make me warm, and also spark a little anger.

“If I don’t want to be on top?”

“Then, I’ll grab your perfect little waist, drag you on top of me, and pull you on my dick. I don’t need you to move. I’ll fuck you wild, and you’ll never have to move a muscle.”

With that beautiful sentiment, I sidle next to him and swing one leg over his lap so my bare, wet cunt is positioned over him. The scent of latex mixes with his cologne, and it takes me under completely. Hutch sets his hands firmly on each of my hips, his thumbs pressing on each hip bone. “Fuck me,” he says. Every nerve ending in my body is focused between my legs. I’m throbbing, empty, in seek of Hutch to remedy the loss—make me complete.

I lean down to find his lips and capture them with mine. Even as his grip tightens I hold tight to my resolve. His lips and tongue possess me. They claim me with the fierceness I feel there. “I think I will,” I say, when he breaks away from the kiss. Hutch stiffens, every beautiful muscle in his body contorting in torturous patience. I slide down onto the tip.

His cock stretches my entrance, and I let my chin fall against my chest—unwilling to control any muscles that aren’t mandatory in this moment. “Look at me,” he says. I force my hips down further, and the sensation of fullness causes me to gasp. Lifting my head, I look at him in the eye. His gaze is stripped of everything. I see him. Inside his fucking soul.

If his cock wasn’t buried inside me right now I feel like he’d be reciting a Shakespearean sonnet, proposing marriage on a jumbotron screen, or maybe, just maybe, telling me he’s in love with me. It’s preposterous, of course, but with a mere look, what-ifs creep in to steal my sanity. Instead of dwelling, lost in his gorgeous eyes, I ride his dick and bury my face in his neck. Despite his obvious command to look at him, I know I can work him so good he won’t care what he’s looking at.

The windows are steamed and the entire car smells like hot, fucking sex. I’m bucking on top of him without regard for anything except his cock and my pussy waltzing in rough, punishing pace. I kiss his neck and his ear, and he pulls my ass cheeks apart to deepen my thrusts. His fingers are warm on my skin, and from this angle, my clit is rubbing against him after each thrust.

“Come on my dick. I want to feel you come,” he rasps, pulling my hair down so my chin tilts up. I’m mildly aware that the movie is still playing behind us because the low speaker just barked out the horrible Madea accent. “Come, Valen,” Hutch orders again.

Skin smacks against skin, breathy sighs morph into moans and tight groans as we both near the peak. His hands grip my ass tighter as he throws me down onto his stiff dick. It’s almost painful. Almost. Crying out, in a strangled cry I tell him I’m coming and it’s all the motivation he needs. The car is shaking with the force of our fucking. I brace my hand on the window as he slams me down, tilts his head back and comes inside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, through clenched teeth. His hips jut up with each throb of his orgasm. I collapse over his shoulder in my own blissful wave of pleasure. He holds me close, his arms banded around my waist, pulling me against his rapidly moving chest.

After a minute or two, he sucks in a few huge breaths and pushes away to look at me. My body is blocking the light from the screen in front of us, so I can only see the shadowy planes of his face. Grabbing my waist, he lifts me gently off his semi-hard dick. He slides the hulking full, condom off and ties it in a knot. Or I can only assume, by his hand movements in the dimly lit car. “Memorable?” he asks.

I’ll never forget that. Ever. But he didn’t say Honest War.

Grinning, I lean over and kiss his lips. “Passable.”

“And I didn’t even get to see the heart on your hip.”

---