Page 91 of The Auction
“Yes, I like that.”
He released it with a pop and then watched as they danced in front of his face.
“Just feel my cock sliding in and out. In and out. Eventually, it won’t hurt. I promise, baby.”
I lifted my head and looked down between us. I could see the base of him, his pubes surrounding it, pushing inand out, in and out. That first burn was gone. Now it was just full and a little sting, but not bad.
“You can go harder,” I said. I could literally feel the tension in him. How much he was trying to hold back.
“Don’t give me fucking permission,” he snarled. “You’re so fucking hot. Can you feel that? The way you take all of me?”
If he said so.
All I felt was the raw power of it. This fucking six-foot three, two hundred fifty plus pound man was on top of me, dominating me, and yet there was a feminine power in the way he whimpered when I squeezed my thighs around his hips. When my heels bounced against his tight ass.
He shouted, grunted. And then, with a few last powerful snaps of his hips, I knew he was coming inside me. I could feel the jets of his cum.
Lifting my hands away from the headboard, I circled his neck, even as he face planted into my shoulder, careful though, not to give me all his weight.
After a minute, I smiled. “We did it.”
He lifted his head. “You fucking wrecked me, baby.”
“Is that good?”
He pinched my chin between his fingers. “Yeah. That’s good.”
Then he kissed me and I thought I never wanted this to end. Him on top of me, inside me, connected to me.
When he finally pulled his head up he shook it and tilted his head back. “I am so fuuuuuucked!”
“That’s what I said!”
TWENTY-TWO
JULIETTE
“Go back in there and change,”he told me.
“No. The pink dress is for special occasions only. I can’t whip it out for every date.”
“Then buy another dress,” he said. “You own what? Three? Add a fourth.”
I owned three dresses. My auction dress, my funeral dress, which he should be well aware of as he’d seen both, and my new special dress.
We were in a standoff in the living room, getting ready to head into town for our date. It had been three days since IT happened and maybe the most surprising thing was how normal everything felt afterwards
I was still me. If a little sore, (okay, a lot sore), between my legs. We hadn’t done it since because of that reason. Which was pretty cool of him. Because I’d been ready to hop on that horse, (literally), again almost immediately after, but he said we had to wait.
We were finally getting to that date we’d talked about and he wanted me to wear my special dress.
“Come here,” he said, motioning with his hands for me to step closer. “Is this even intentional?”
He pulled on my t-shirt which didn’t reach the top of my jeans. His fingers brushed against the exposed skin of my midriff and it sent off tingles throughout my body.
Okay, so maybe one thing was significantly different having done IT for the first time.
Apparently, I was a horn dog. Everything he did made me either think about sex, want sex, or wonder if I was some kind of latent pervert. (I didn’t think so.)
