Page 11 of Chips & Checks
He moans against me, low and pleased, and it hits me right there, where his mouth is working like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the menu. His fingers curl, hitting that spot inside me that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Fuck, Vi,” he groans against me, tongue slick and greedy. “You taste like sin and sugar. Like you’ve been walking around with this soaked just for me. Like your pussy knew I’d be on my knees, starving for it.”
I whimper, hands tangled in his hair, thighs already trembling.
“You’re so wet,” he says, lips brushing my clit between strokes. “So fucking responsive. You want to come for me, don’t you?”
“God, yes.”
“That’s it,” he growls. “Say it again.”
“Yes, Murph—please.”
“Fuck, I love that. Good girl, Vi.” His tongue circles my clit, slow and deliberate. “You’re gonna come in my mouth, aren’t you?”
I nod frantically, hips lifting off the bed. He locks his arms around my thighs and holds me there, completely at his mercy, and honestly? I don’t want it any other way.
“I want to feel it, Vi. Want to taste every second of it. Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel.”
Before I can even consider what this means, I unravel.
Another orgasm tears through me like a current—hot, sudden, all-consuming. I cry out, arching into his face, completely wrecked as he groans and sucks me through every wave. His grip stays firm, mouth never breaking contact, like he’s determined to memorize every last twitch of my body.
When I finally collapse back to the mattress, boneless and breathless, he presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh like a benediction.
Then he looks up at me with that cocky, wreck-me grin and says, “Two down.” Murph looks up from between my thighs. “I can’t wait Dad turns to face here to be inside you. Are you ready for me?”
“Mm-hmm.” What are words? I’m so blissed out I can barely think straight.
Murph gives me a cheeky grin. Then he and his big, beautiful, pierced cock shimmy up the mattress toward me. I watch him through glassy eyes as he unrolls the condom down his length.
Suddenly, I’m not feeling so sleepy anymore.
Which is saying something, considering I just came so hard my thoughts scattered like confetti in a hurricane. Twice.
Twice.
I’ve only had one orgasm per session with a man in my entire life, and even that one could be a little dicey. But with Murph? It’s like my body skipped the preamble and just knew. Like it’s been lying in wait, holding out for him specifically.
Which is a dangerous, dangerous thought, considering what he made very clear earlier.
There will be no repeats.
Still, if orgasms are the metric—and let’s be real, they should be—then I’ve already shattered my previous personal best. And the greedy part of me? She’s already wondering how many more I can steal before sunrise.
While he gets the condom on, I push myself off the mattress and straddle him, which is easier said than done. Murph’s thighs are as thick as my waist—solid, unrelenting muscle. He probably does squats for breakfast and deadlifts for fun. The physio part of my brain briefly appreciates the structural marvel of him…
But the rest of me is flooded. Heavy. Dripping Hungry.
“Slowly,” Murph murmurs, voice low and steady as his hands guide my hips. “Relax. We’re not in any rush.”
“Says you,” I grumble, trying to ease him in. “I want—oh… fuck.”
I freeze as he breaches me, eyes fluttering shut against the blinding stretch. My breath stutters. My body fights to adjust. He’s too big. Wide. Heavy. The kind of thick that makes your toes curl on instinct. No wonder he insisted on getting me off first—there’s no way I could’ve taken him dry.
His barbell glides just inside me, and I nearly convulse—a slick, metallic friction that makes me gasp. It adds pressure in all the right ways. Different. Sharper. Unreal.
“Easy,” he whispers, his voice wrecked now. “You’re doing so good, Vi. Just breathe for me.”
