Page 70 of Fly Boy
My blood ignites with white-hot desire as I tug the material aside, thrusting my cock deep inside her pussy without warning, my hips meeting hers in one punishing pump. She cries out, my movements propelling her forward, her hands fisting the sheets. I look down, noticing her flushed, blissed-out expression, and any worry that I’m being too rough is gone.
I wrap a hand around the silk that decorates her spine, where the ribbons intersect, twisting together into the perfect knot that rests just below her shoulder blades, allowing me to tug Pippa up. Her chest lifts, her forearms pressing into the mattress. She closes her legs, lifting onto her tiptoes, the pressure of her tight pussy incredible as she grips me.
“Pull my hair,” she pants, tipping her head back, her hair cascading down her back. Gathering a handful in my fist, I yankit back, pulling her flush against my chest. I angle my head to her throat, nipping my way to her ear, running my tongue along the outer shell as I fuck her harder.
“More,” she chokes out, and I increase the grip on her hair. “Is that all you’ve got,Captain?”
With a growl, I pull hard enough to snap her head back. “One day, I’m going to fuck the brat out of you.”
She moans, her pussy contracting around my cock as I drive into her punishingly. Animalistic sounds echo around my room, our fucking damn near pornographic. I look at my hand coiled tightly around her hair, the bright red fabric standing out against her creamy skin, my fingerprints already appearing on her hips. My dick is impossibly hard, my heart beating madly in my chest as I thrust into her from behind, each forward push connecting our bodies, skin to skin.
“I’m so close,” she breathes, sweat coating her back. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Come on me.”
My hips stutter. “What?”
“Make me come, and when I’m done, paint me in yours. Mark me, cover me, own—”
She cries out, the end of her sentence dying as I push her back down, slamming into her, rough and hard and not at all nice.
I’ve met my match, a girl who gives as much as she takes and wants as much as I do.
It’s never been like this. This side of me is usually hidden away, never allowed out to play. Everyone sees the professional Wyatt, few see the real me out of the cockpit, but none have experienced this man.
Thisis the Wyatt I didn’t know until now was created just for her.
“Wyatt,” she moans, her body tensing before shuddering beneath me.
I won’t last much longer, and I pull out.
“Turn over,” I demand, tearing off the condom as she crawls up the bed and onto her back. She tugs at the ribbons as I fist the base of my cock, staving off my orgasm, watching her undo the bow, her tits spilling out so beautifully.
She bites on her lower lip, reaching a hand between her spread legs, rubbing her clit slowly as I rest a knee on the mattress, bracketed by hers on either side, and pump my length. It would be embarrassing how quickly I come if it wasn’t for the glazed, blissed-out look on Pippa's face, the small smile etched on her lips as hot, white ropes of cum cover her stomach, her chest, her neck.
My legs give out, and I land on top of her, smearing my release between us. I try to move, aware I’m crushing her, when she wraps her ankles around my thighs, keeping me in place. Catching my breath, I bury my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the mixture of sweat and sex, my eyes becoming heavy.
Lazy, feather-light touches create blazes against my skin as she brushes them gently up and down my sides.
“What are you doing to me?” I pant into her skin, the question slipping from my lips without permission.
I don’t think she’s heard me until her lips graze my shoulder, and she whispers, “The same thing you’re doing to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I hurt you.”
Pippa lifts her head, staring down at the red marks between her breasts, where the silk had been lying and had rubbed against her skin when I tugged at it from behind.
“It’s barely a friction burn,” she says, prodding at it, wincing when she touches a particularly nasty-looking spot.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving to roll off the bed, but her hand catches my arm, stopping me.
“You didn’t hurt me, Wyatt.” She looks at me in earnest. “I promise.”
It doesn’t placate me, though, and I shrug out of her hold. Her sigh sounds irritated as I bend down and pick up the discarded condom, taking it to the bathroom and tossing it in the trash.
