Page 29 of Mac
“Yes, Princess. I’ll definitely please you.”
“Now.”
“Demanding. I like that. Shimmy the rest of the way out of those pants or you’re going to need new ones.”
She didn’t care. He could ruin every piece of clothing she owned and she’d buy more for him to do the same thing to.
Together they got her naked save for her bra and he was glued to her body, her legs hitched around his hips and her back sliding up the pole as he lifted her.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this with you. Fuck you out here. Fuck you in my tree house. Fuck you on my bike. Fuck you all over every damn inch of town and then do it again.”
“Then stop talking. Please, Mac.”
He was inside her in the next breath they shared. He was stretching her, filling her, becoming part of her and tears streamed down her face.
“Jackie?”
Concern filled his voice and he started to let her go, started to pull out, but she tightened her thighs and arms around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin and she shook her head. “Stay. Fuck … Fuck me.”
He stared at her and she stared back. She didn’t dare look away. She didn’t dare blink. If she did, he’d be gone.
Whatever he saw convinced him and he only pulled out a bit, then drove his hips upward. His hands shoved her breasts together and his fingers clawed at the cups of her bra. He pulled them down, exposing her nipples. Then this mouth was there, sucking, tugging, pulling.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, the words muffled by the mounds of flesh he’d buried his face in.
Impaled on his cock, at the mercy of his touch, his use, his whim, she held onto him.
He let go of her breasts, leaving them naked to his gaze and the outside air. Her nipples pebbled, standing erect, pointed and sensitive.
His hands were at her hips again and he fucked her as she’d asked, begged, sobbed. He was relentless in his thrusts, driving them both hard against the wood at her back.
“No man?” he asked. “No man since you came here?” The fire in his eyes told her he knew the answer already. She’d told him there’d been no one, but now, inside her, he needed her tell him again.
“No one,” she said, licking at a tear that streamed down from her eye to the corner of her mouth.
His lips replaced her tongue and he sucked at the remaining tears that fell.
She shuddered against him, shifted and buried her face against his neck. She ground down on his cock, her clit sliding over the shaft with each stroke in and out. She strained. Wanting and needing the orgasm denied her earlier in the jail cell. Wanting and needing the orgasm from him and with him.
She had to know. She had to feel it. She had to have it.
Her nipples rubbed against his chest, the friction sending swirls of sensation directly to her cunt.
When he drove up into her hard enough to make her gasp … Not once. Not twice. But several times, slamming against her clit …
A squeal escaped her lips, followed by a long, drawn out, “Oh God”. And she came with his cock buried deep. She rocked and moaned, making it last as long as she could.
Her sex twitched, sending shock waves through her system and when stilled, she felt him throbbing, pulsing, coming.
His grunts registered as her blood slowed to a dull pounding in her ears. She didn’t ease her hold on him and he didn’t shake her off.
They remained locked together. Her eyes remained wet and leaking tears into the skin of his shoulder.
She couldn’t seem to stop crying.
Her body hummed with pleasure and life and sensations she had never experienced. Not in the all years she’d been on her own. Not when she lost her virginity. Not when she explored sex in high school and the first years of college. Not when she stripped for the first time. Not when she hooked for money.
Not until now. Until Mac. Until sex with him. Until he touched her. Until she let herself touch him.
