Page 92 of End Game
“That you do.” He rises up from his waist and sucks one nipple into his mouth. Propping himself up with one hand, he uses the other to squeeze my breast as he works the beaded nub with his tongue.
“Ah,” I moan, my head falling back.
He scoots us closer to the arm rest so that he’s braced by the sofa. One of my knees digs between the seat and the back, the other leg dangles off the side of the couch. He’s hard, so worked up that his temple is throbbing.
Digging my hands into his thick hair, I press his face harder to my chest. He switches breasts, his hand taking the place of his mouth on the first, kneading it so carefully that I think I’m going to come.
I lift off of him just enough that I can palm his length under me. My body positioned just over the tip, I let my weight fall, crashing down on his shaft.
“God,” I moan, sucking in a hard breath. He bites down on my nipple, tugging it as he groans. We still for a moment, giving me a second to adjust to his size.
My body feels completely full, stretched to an almost painful point, but as he begins to move, I know I haven’t even taken it all.
One hand on each of his shoulders, I rock. With each motion, each subtle flick of his hips below me, a shot of fire scorches me from the inside out.
“You feel amazing,” he says, giving my tits a final squeeze and running his hands down to my hips again. “Your body is perfect.”
I close my eyes and soak up the sensations rioting through me. It’s a wonderful, chaotic feeling to have every nerve ending firing at the same time.
His cock hits the wall of my pussy as I lift and drop onto him in deliberate strokes. As if he knows what I need, he splays a hand just below my belly button and when his thumb presses on my clit, I bite down on my lip.
“Branch,” I warn through gritted teeth. “I need to stop or I’m going to come all over your cock.”
I open my eyes to see a wickedness in his that does nothing but propel me towards an orgasm. He looks at me like he could devour me, his bright blue eyes gleaming with lust.
“Just hearing you say that has me dripping inside you.” He holds the bottom of my ass and raises me up and down, urging me to take quicker strokes. “Are you ready to come, baby?”
Each movement hits the target, the need to climax so strong I can’t even hold my eyes open. I feel his gaze on me, watching my breasts bounce in his face, watching my mouth slack open as I draw closer and closer to the end. Any sense of self-awareness has long left the building as the sound of our bodies, slick with desire, rings through the living room.
“Branch!” I call out, letting him press deeper, farther into my body. “Oh God.”
My jaw aches as I bite down, the eruption starting at the base of my stomach and flowing out until every bit of my body is engulfed in the bliss of climax. A flurry of colors sparkles through my vision, and I’m only faintly aware that he’s calling my name. I only barely hear the groan of his warning, the feel of his hands biting into my skin, the thrust of his hips, or the heat of his body expelling into mine.
Any ability I had to keep moving is long gone, and I sit on top of him as he rides out his own orgasm.
We sit, both panting, our bodies glistening with sweat. At the same moment, we open our eyes. It takes a second for us to smile, for him to reach up and wipe the hair stuck to the side of my face away.
“I know you’re not supposed to say a woman is wrong,” he teases, “but I think I did just prove you wrong.”
“How do you figure?”
“This proves, despite whatever else, we can still have fun together.”
I smack him on the chest and climb off, making a beeline for the bathroom. “I’ve never said we couldn’t have fun. I just said we need to be careful.”
“That wasn’t fun for you?” he shouts after me, a laugh in his voice.
“No. It was awful,” I yell back. Before I can reach the bathroom, I hear his steps coming behind me and squeal as he picks me up and cradles me in his arms.
Looking up at his face, I see something besides the lust. Besides the need. Besides the physical attraction we have to one another. I see something else entirely and it’s that look, that feeling, that worries me.
“If that wasn’t fun, it’s only fair you give me another try,” he says, carrying me down the hallway.
“What do you propose? Blackjack? Rummy? Maybe chess?” I tease.
He kicks open my bedroom door and lays me on the bed. Standing over me, he grins. “Something more like Twister, but you can call it what you want.”
My knees fall to the side as he climbs on top of me. He surprises me by lying next to me.
