Page 55 of Property of Tacoma
“How old are you?” he asks suddenly, eyes darting between mine.
“Twenty-four,” I answer, then return the question. “You?”
His lips twitch. “Forty-three.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“I’m an old man, Angel,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.
I feel his cock twitch against my thigh and giggle. “I guess you are,” I tease.
His eyes darken at my words, and he rolls me onto my stomach in one swift move. “Think that’s funny, huh?”
He pulls my hips up, positioning me on my knees, my face still pressed against the pillow. I feel him move behind me, his large hands spreading my legs wider.
“Such a perfect ass,” he murmurs, running a palm over my cheek. “Still pink from the shower.”
I wiggle impatiently, already aching for him again. “Please, Tacoma.”
He positions himself at my entrance and sinks to the hilt in one rough thrust.
I gasp at the fullness, the slight burn of my still-sensitive flesh stretching to accommodate him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, setting a punishing pace from the start.
His hand comes down hard on my ass, and this time I cry out, burying my face in the pillow. The sting spreads delicious heat through my body.
He spanks the other cheek, and I moan, meeting him thrust for thrust. “More,” I beg. “Please, more.”
“Fuck.” He groans. “You’re perfect.”
He gives me what I want, alternating between hard slaps and deep thrusts that hit my G-spot with delicious accuracy.
The combination of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, pushing me toward another climax like a bullet train.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his breathing ragged. “Take it all.”
I’m so close, teetering on the edge, when his phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand.
“Ignore it,” I plead, not wanting to lose this momentum.
But it buzzes again, insistent.
“Fuck,” he growls, not breaking his rhythm but reaching over to grab it.
He glances at the screen, and I feel him tense behind me. “Shit.”
“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.
“Church,” he says, his voice tight with frustration.
But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he tosses the phone aside and redoubles his efforts, his hand snaking around to find my clit.
“Come for me now, Angel,” he demands. “I need to feel you.”
His fingers work magic on my sensitive bud, and combined with his relentless thrusts, it sends me careening over the edge. I come with a scream muffled by the pillow, my body clenching around him like a vise.
He follows seconds later, his hands gripping my hips hard as he empties himself inside me with a guttural groan.
