Page 49 of Property of Tacoma
“Shit,” she breathes, her mouth falling open as I bottom out inside her. “That feels—oh god.”
I give her a moment, both of us panting, before I start to move.
Slow at first, savoring the drag of my piercing against her inner walls. Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me in deeper with each thrust.
“You feel so fucking good,” I growl, picking up the pace. “Wet and hot. Fuck, your pussy is trying to squeeze the fucking life outta’ me.”
She moans in response, her head falling back on her shoulders.
I take advantage, latching onto her exposed neck, sucking and biting marks into her skin.
Mine. She’s mine.
“Harder,” she begs, her voice breathy and desperate. “Please, honey.”
I grab her hips, digging my fingers into her soft flesh as I slam into her. The bed rocks beneath us, the headboard banging against the wall.
She cries out, her inner walls clenching around me.
“That’s it, baby,” I encourage, feeling my own release building. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and something passes between us—a connection that goes beyond the physical.
It shakes me to my core, this feeling, this moment.
This is more than just a quick fuck.
This is something else entirely.
“I’m close,” she whimpers, her body trembling beneath me.
I slip my hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb. “Come for me, Cali,” I say, calling her by her real name. “Come for me now.”
She shatters at my command, her back arching off the bed as she cries out my name.
The sight of her coming undone pushes me right to the edge.
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, driving into her one, two, three more times before my own release hits me like a freight train.
“Fuck, Foxy!” I roar, emptying myself into the condom as pleasure courses through every nerve in my body.
For a moment, we stay frozen, both of us panting, our bodies still connected.
Then I carefully pull out, disposing of the condom in the wastebasket beside the bed before collapsing next to her.
She turns her head to face me, and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across her lips. “Better than okay.”
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at her. My fingers trace over a tattoo on her ribs—a delicate compass nestled in the center of a rose.
“What’s this one mean?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She glances down at it. “It’s to remind me I can always find my way home, no matter how far I wander.”
“And where’s home?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my chest. “I’m not sure anymore. It used to be Jacksonville, but lately...” She shrugs. “I spend more time in my RV than anywhere else.”
I nod, understanding the feeling.
