Page 77 of Sunshine
My pelvis rolls with a mind of its own, the wetness between my legs growing with the deep, brazen tone of his words, the slippery sound of my folds on Dylan’s erection obscenely erotic. Dylan lifts himself onto his elbows so he can look at the place our bodies meet, his eyes growing large and hungry at the picture of my bare pussy sliding against him, my swollen clit peeking out with every shallow thrust.
The muscles and thick veins in Dylan’s forearms and biceps flex as he grabs my hips and lifts me off his cock. He keepsme there with one hand gripping my hip while, with the other, he pulls a condom from his discarded jeans, tears it open with his teeth again, and rolls it onto his cock. My core aches at the performance, and lust speeds hot and urgent across my skin. Who knew my kink would be watching Dylan roll on a rubber?
I take a deep breath as Dylan sweeps the firm crown of his cock along my slick seam, and it’s all I can do not to fall apart when he strokes my clit, but when he notches it against my center, I hover over him, preparing myself for what’s to come next. I haven’t ridden him before, and I can only guess what a dick this size is going to feel like at this angle.
Overwhelming. World-changing. Earth-shattering. Ruined-for-all-men, is-this-real, when-can-we-do-this-againheaven.
Dylan smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and he slides his hands around my waist to knead the soft flesh of my ass before he spreads me open. “You can take it, and it’ll feel fucking amazing when you do.”
I trust him not to go too fast, but more than that, I know he’s right, and as the first delicious inch of him slides into place, I clench my jaw and release a little moan. It feels good. It feels snug. One look at Dylan underneath me, sweat beading on his brow, and I can see the thin hold he has on his self-control. I sink a little deeper, taking a little more, stretching around his girth before I get into my head and tense up. He’s so big. He’ll never fit like this.
“Breathe with me, baby,” Dylan whispers as he slips his thumb around to the front and rubs tight, torturous circles over my clit. Moisture floods my pussy, my core clenches in the first tremors of my orgasm, and I spread my knees to take in a little bit more. Another inch.
“Breathe, Penelope,” Dylan murmurs again in a way that ignites my soul. He removes his hand from between my legs, and when he sucks his fingers, his eyes roll back in his head. “Fuck.Fuck. Do you know how often I think about eating you? Every day. Every night. Your pussy was made for me, Sunshine. Takes me so well and tastes like mine.”
The way he talks, like I belong to him, opens something in my chest, and I close my eyes to prolong the way this feels. Preserve it so I never forget it.
On my next exhale, he moans and circles his hips, stretching me with expert finesse, pushing in deeper as I breathe past the exquisite burn, applying a little downward pressure to my waist until I’m seated and he’s all the way in. I feel it in my throat as I adjust to his size, conscious of his fingers ghosting over my arms, my rib cage, my waist, my breasts. Soothing and arousing me. Waiting for me to give him the green light to fuck me like he wants to.
“That’s it,” he murmurs between his clenched teeth. “That’s my girl. So tight. So fucking wet. So pretty stretched around my cock.”
I feel so full and just like he promised—so fucking amazing.
“Oh,God.” I whimper at the snug fit of him and accept his hands as he threads his fingers in mine. I hold on tight enough to hurt and press my eyes closed as I test my tolerance with a hesitant roll of my hips. “Oh. My. Freaking. God!”
“Nah, baby.” Dylan’s voice is as tense as I feel as he increases his grip on my hands, both of us hanging onto the last threads of sanity. “It’s just me.”
“Dylan? Dylan!” I rock on him in motions that get a little faster with every swivel until I prove to us both it’s safe to be wild, needy, frantic. Then I shamelessly grind down hard as his cock hits every sensitive spot inside, and my clit rubs against the hard, hot plane of his pubic bone. I’m warm enough now that I don’t need my sweater, so I peel it off my body, but my hair hangs heavy and hot against my neck, so I scoop it up and hold it on top of my head.
“You like that?” Dylan grunts, squeezing my breasts and tweaking my nipple piercings hard enough to hurt before a zing of desire explodes deep in my belly. “You like riding this dick? You like the way I fill you up?”
“Yes,” I tell him breathlessly, bucking as I edge toward an orgasm, my pussy clenching and quivering as I ride closer and closer, then easing as I slow my hips, not wanting to fall off the other side yet. I don’t want this to be over. I want it to last forever. “Oh, God. Yes.”
Dylan grips my hips tighter, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and the idea of him making a mark on me pushes me closer to release.
His abdominals clench as he thrusts up into me with rough, selfish pumps that I love. My heart races, every inch of my skin flushes hot and damp, and my thighs tense around his waist as my core clamps down.
“Ride me as hard as you want. Ride me until you come. Make a mess of me, Sunshine. That’s right. Just like that.”
My orgasm crashes over me without warning. One minute, I’m riding the edge of my climax—literally—hovering on a cliff of blissful oblivion, relishing the pain, not wanting the moment to be over. The next, Dylan’s fingers are massaging my clit and pinching my nipple, and the euphoria grows so intense it just explodes. And so do I, soaking Dylan’s lap in my cum, sparks and hot light igniting all over my body, muscles clenching and rippling deep in my core. Over and over until Dylan’s dick pulses and his hips arch up as he releases inside me, and I collapse on his chest, the hot sticky evidence of my orgasm leaking down my thighs.
“Jesusfuck,” he mutters, scooping my hair to one side so he can rain open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck. “You’re incredible. So fucking perfect. Do you know that?”
I’m floating and falling. That’s the only way to explain it. I don’t know if it’s his words or the flicker of his tongue that makes me shiver. And as the cool air caresses the sweat on my skin, Dylan rubs his palms over the goosebumps on my arms before he drags the blanket over me and carefully rolls me onto the truck bed next to him.
“Wait here,” he says, and I watch his tight round ass as he slides off the end of the truck, collects something from the cab, and returns with a damp washcloth and a clean towel.
He kneels beside me and unwraps me like a present, then he opens my thighs and wipes them clean with gentle, competent sweeps of the washcloth.
“It’s warm,” I say with surprise as the cotton makes contact.
“Thermos,” he replies, like his thoughtfulness means nothing when it means everything.
“You don’t have to—”
He silences me with a stern frown. “Iwantto.”
I lay still as Dylan takes care of me, and the scary part is that I could get used to this. He’s so careful and so particular, respectfully running the towel over my body. I feel cherished. Adored. Even loved. And that’s the most frightening part of all.
