Page 39 of Whiskey Throttle
“You sure, Barbara?” he asks, voice tight with restraint.
Far too late.
His cock is already inside me. The taste of my cum is already swallowed down his throat. Asking for confirmation should have started way back at that airfield in Boston.
“I’m not sure I can stop if you aren’t.”
He begins to move, slowly in and gently back out.
“It’s a little late to be asking.”
For the first time in years, I stop thinking entirely. I smile, my hand running the length of my body, settling at my nipple.
He continues his slow strokes, deep and long. Not enough to get me off, but definitely causing my lust to build. He shakes his head. Eyes glued to where we meet. Watching himself impale me painfully slow. I pluck at my nipple, hoping to get him more excited, to speed things up. It works when his rhythm falters, catching his eyes. He drags his hand over mine, pulling it away to wet my crest with the cum from stroking my clit.
“I’ll always stop for you.”
CHAPTER 11
HOLLISTER
I still need her to know how serious I am about not fucking this up. I wasn’t lying when I told her how many times I’ve imagined this. Being with her. Buried inside her body. There’s no way I’m letting anything I can control ruin this. It’s been too much wanting, but thinking I’d never have her.
It’s why I brought her to this room, my studio, with all my works. She had to know before we started anything this weekend. It’s why I brought her here, beyond discretion and privacy. I wanted her to see herself as I do. To know that I know her more than she realizes.
Now that I’m inside her, I’ll do everything in my power to do right by her. She doesn’t answer when I say I’ll stop. Giving us time and space to work things out alone, mentally, even while I’m physically pushing into her.
My hand is on her breast, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat. Her hand falls away, rests against the charcoals I used to sketch her. Her leg presses heavily against my shoulder, adding to the tension that tightens her core.
She’s stunning.
In better shape than I could have imagined. Thin but athletic. The muscle definition is evident in all the right places. Not bald like most women I’ve been with, but a tight landing strip carefully crafted by a professional.
It tickled my nose when I ate her out. Forced me to close my eyes and shut off how sexy she looked, moaning under my tongue and touch. I wanted to please her first. Give her an out to run out of here. I didn’t expect it to get this far this soon. But fuck, it’s how older women operate, I guess.
They know what they want. And when it’s a go, it’s a fucking go. The freedom from mind games is a relief. I can simply enjoy her, enjoy myself, and let this weekend unfold however it’s meant to unfold.
No demanding extravagant trips of Instagram-worthy pictures of the destination, food, or outfits. None of that. Just Babs lying in the sunshine, letting me slowly make love to her. It’s every dream coming true.
“You like watching your cock fuck me, don’t you?”
Her voice has an added husk to it when I look at her. Lips upturned. Not a smile. Not yet, at least. I keep my pace steady, wanting to be inside her forever. Feeling a tinge of sadness that I won’t be able to hold off coming too much longer.
“I do. It just seems like a dream, though.”
“A dream?”
I push back in. Her pussy is looser, allowing me in deeper. I groan. She feels so fucking amazing. Her pussy sucks me in, wanting my cock. My balls tingle, needing to rail her. Knowing I won’t. Knowing I need to go slowly and carefully so as not to scare her off or have her fly back to Boston.
This weekend is about getting to know each other. Exploring, learning, and just being with the object of my recent fascination. I pump in and out of her in short strokes, teasing and baiting her for more.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure this would ever happen. Still thinking I’ll fuck it up.”
I don’t know why I confessed that. Maybe it’s because she didn’t scoff at my artwork. How she effortlessly let me eat her out. How she’s letting me fuck her now. Maybe it’s the lack of judgment and rejection. The lack of expectation has me putting down my walls and blurting out what I think for once.
Not guarded or the peacemaker, just plain old me. Her lips curl into a smile. Her hand circles my wrist, pulling me toward her. I lean forward, and the table groans under my added weight. It’s sturdy enough to hold us, but the creaking is annoying.
“You won’t.”
