Page 52 of Most Likely to Match
Click.
Her eyes flutter closed, her moan echoing through my skin, up my forearm, through muscle and blood and bone. I grip the camera tighter in my right hand, the only relief I can get for this sensory overload.
Click.
She opens her eyes. It would be easy, from the position she’s in, to play up a coquettish air, but my Chloe is serious. Especially about sex. I pull my fingers from her mouth, letting her spit dribble down her chin.
Click.
“Please?” she asks.
I take myself in hand, rubbing her saliva over my skin. “You still want this?” I move the camera away from my face. I don’t want anything between us when she gives me her answer, but she pushes the Nikon back toward me.
“I want it with pictures.”
A shiver runs up my spine. Goose bumps break out along my thighs and ass. This is dangerous. I’ve felt this before. The thrill, the intensity of letting go, of giving her exactly what she wants. It put me in a bad place the last time I followed this instinct. While I’m not a teenager anymore, and neither is she, the circumstances are very much the same. We’re still a secret. There’s still too much left unsaid between us.
Instead of answering her, I shift forward a step, put the camera back up to my face.
Click.
Chloe asked me for trust. She’s giving it to me back. The least I could do is trust myself, too.
I follow her mouth as she reaches for me. Out of frame, her hands find my hips. Then she’s gripping me with her fist, tonguing me. Her lips wrap around the head of my cock, and she looks at me, at the camera.
There are three modes separating portrait and video on the camera dial, and I flick through them almost instinctively. I can’t keep up with this, with the way her mouth stretches around me, her fist at the base of my cock, the glimpse of her hand holding my balls.
Portrait mode can’t catch the wet sound of her spit and my skin, her swift exhalations through her nose because her mouth is so fucking full of me, her moan when I gently guide her up and down my cock with my hand in her hair, or my “oh fuck, baby; I’m sorry, baby” when she takes me so deep and I push too hard and hit the back of her throat.
Maybe I’m perverse, but distantly, I’m relieved that I will have the sound of her gagging on my cock on record for the rest of my goddamn life.
“Chlo,” I whisper. I’m not looking at her through the camera anymore. I don’t know if I’m even capturing anything. “Chloe, I’m gonna…”
Chloe takes me deeper. She presses my hand against the back of her head, urging me to push for her, guide her. I don’t want to hurt her.
“Chloe, baby, please.”
She moans around me, her own pleading. I push her deeper onto my cock, press into her with my hips. Feel her swallow around me as I unload down the back of her throat. I make sounds I’ve never heard before. My legs shake and sweat clings to my back. I abandon the camera to somewhere in the mattress. Hopefully the duvet will catchits fall. I land on my knees, her head still in my lap as she draws every last drop of come from me.
“Stop,” I say, quietly. “Please. Stop. No more. Please.”
She pulls off me, her lips puffy and pink, shining with spit, and I cup her face in my hands, her cheeks and chin wet. I kiss her, lick her, suck her tongue into my mouth, greedy for the taste of her and myself.
A stupider man would let this moment get away from him, say too much, too loud, too fast, because his heart is pounding too hard in his chest and he can’t tell the taste of her from the taste of him on her mouth. A stupider man would let the feelings of right now pull him into the past, when he was freer with his words. I’m not a stupid man. Not anymore.
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, her lips. “Your turn.”
Chloe climbs onto me, straddling my still shaking legs. Leaning back to make space between us, she takes my hand and guides me between her legs. “You get so wet.” I breathe the words across her throat as I ghost my fingers along the soft petals of her lips, tease her with gentle pressure at her hole.
“Dean,” she says. My name sounds like a command at first, but quickly ends in a pleading, plaintive note. She shifts on my lap, looking for pressure, for friction. “Dean, please.” She huffs. I kiss her as I slip three fingers into her pussy, so I can feel the sound of her moan as much as I hear it.
“You know I’ll always give it to you, right?” I ask as she slowly fucks my hand. I push her hair back, over her shoulder, off her face, so I can see all of her. “When have I ever not given you exactly what you wanted?” I say with a smirk and a teasing tone. But as I slide my thumb over her clit, as I grip her ass cheek with my other hand, it hits me how true it is.
Chloe grabs me by the ears and pulls me to her tits. I follow with eyes closed and mouth open. I suck each nipple into tight, pink peaks as her moans fill my ears. She holds my hand between her legs in place, twists herself to cover my hand on her ass with her own. “Iwish I could take more of you,” she says between gasps. “I wish you could fill me up, everywhere. I wish I could feel you everywhere. All at once.” She sounds frustrated, almost sad. Like it’s only a wish, one that can never come true.
I drag my tongue along her skin, over her tits. She tastes like salt and sweat and smells like me. And I say, “You can.” I promise, “You will.”
Because fuck me, if she wants it, she’ll have it. “I’ll always give it to you, baby. Whatever you want,” I whisper.
