Page 40 of Whiskey Throttle
Two words.
Assuring and accepting.
It’s a jolt to my hard cock.
Suddenly, I don’t want to take her to my table. I want to have her in every available space here. I want her memory in every corner of this place so when I fuck it up, I’ll relive today every time I’m here.
I scoop her up, and her leg slips down my arm to rest in the crook of my elbow. The other is resting on my forearm as she slides down my cock.
“Oh my . . .”
She gasps, clutches at my shoulders, and tries to climb up my body. The intensity of my cock shoved against her cervix, sending a grunt out of me and into her mouth, where I sear my lips to hers. I want to own both holes, force her to take me everywhere I can.
My hips thrust without thought, muscle memory taking over as I shove my tongue into her mouth. Plunging in and out opposite my cock in her wet pussy. She’s moaning, tightening, and coming all over me.
I walk with her, impaled, bursting with the pleasure that I brought. I piston up into her. My hands hold her firm ass, make her bounce on me to milk the completion out of her. Her tongue shoves past mine. Into my mouth, taking me how she wants when her back hits the wall.
She uses it as leverage, her legs still trapped at my elbows, but clenches with every thrust of my cock. The scent of her perfume seeps into my skin. Another imprint to this whole experience.
“Maybe I’ll fuck it up,” she mutters against my lips.
It’s when she breaks the kiss, wraps her arms around my neck, and hugs the shit out of me that I race toward my orgasm. Being absolved of the guilt or pending doom I battled with for some reason, I’m free to fuck her how I want.
My hands dig into her ass. Squeezing her flesh hard while I recklessly plunge in and out so fast, she’s gasping. Her arms slipping from my neck, from the sweat collecting there. My ass has goosebumps on it, my balls are sucked into my body, ready to burst at any moment.
“Look at me.”
She pulls back. Stares straight into my eyes as another orgasm hits her. Her breath hitches, a mix of pleasure and surprise as I continue to pound into her. Her body is slick and hot around mine. The wall behind her shudders with each thrust. The risk of someone hearing or seeing only adds to the thrill. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her dark eyes bore into my being.
“Hollister.”
My name is a quiet scream of ecstasy stuck in her throat. I dip my head, running my tongue along her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat, feeling the vibrations of her moans against my lips. Her pussy clenches around me, pulsing, begging for more. I oblige, driving into her with reckless abandon. The sound of our flesh slapping together fills the room, drowning out the distant roar of the ocean outside.
I slam into her one last time, my cock throbbing as I spill into the condom, wishing it were painting her insides with my cum. Her legs tremble. I hold her tighter, pressing her against the wall.
We stay like that, panting, hearts pounding in sync, our bodies slick with sweat and fluids. My face nuzzled into her neck. Her hands drag through my damp hair. I can feel her wild heartbeat against my chest.
“If this is you worried about fucking things up, by all means.”
Hearing her curse is odd, yet it’s music to my ears that she does it with me.
Was I worried?
Yes.
Am I still worried?
Even more so now that I know how it could be with us.
I nuzzle her neck. Nibble at her sweaty skin, but don’t respond. I don’t want her to know all my fears. That slip of a confession and showing her my studio are enough for one day.
“Shower, pool, or ocean?” I mutter against her neck, dousing her with kisses.
Her hands stop roaming as her body stiffens.
“Won’t your staff see us with the latter two?”
I smile into her skin. She’s always worried about appearances. If I didn’t share her world, I wouldn’t understand. But I am and I do. She’s been cautious and calculating for years. It’s always at the forefront of her mind. I’m going to break that this weekend.
