Page 82 of Whiskey Splash

“Oh God, Desmond!” I crow, my thighs and pussy clenching and meeting his shameless thrusting. “No man has ever made me come on his cock!”

“Never?” He pounds harder and I shake my head, totally lost in the waving thrusts of his

whole domination.

“No,” I moan. “They always had to go down on me or—”

He lifts me higher, pushing into me at a whole new angle and making my mouth drop. “You’re saying you’ve never been truly fucked before?”

“I guess not,” I gasp against his mouth, my words raking out my throat. He smiles triumphantly and I start babbling. “I want to come on your cock, Desmond,” I say vulgarly. “Please make me come on your cock! God, you’re— Oh God, Desmond! Oh God—!”

My pussy clenches and ripples, my mouth ravenous for air as Desmond increases his pace and takes me right to the edge, pleasure exploding as my gasps hit completely new octaves. Grinning, Desmond changes the angle again as my orgasm crests and I can’t breathe, I can’t see, a new strip of pleasure tears through me that’s sheer power and ecstasy.

My eyes glaze over as Desmond leans into the new angle, his own release building. Selfishly, I angle back to watch him grit his teeth, the power and beauty of him as he focuses on thrusting inside me. His head tilts up, eyes catching mine and I see his eyes dilate, his skin flush red, his mouth tremble as his cock reams and quivers, reaching his edge.

It’s beautiful, the jolt of release and affection that slides through his gaze as he comes, just as needy and desperate, finding pure pleasure in me. I dig my fingers into his back as he bites through his release, the intimacy of looking right at me completely unraveling.

The intensity of his thrusts slow as he captures my mouth, wild and soft and full of raw emotion. He holds me tightly as he takes a few steps back and turns, slowly lowering us both onto the bench. He sits himself back against the stone with me cradled in his lap, straddling him. He kisses me for so long with his arms clutching my spine, that I’m sure I’ve gotten lost in the stars.

Eventually, his arms loosen and he pulls back to look at me, pushing my hair out of my face. I’m ravaged, hair slick and wild, breasts swollen and bobbing with each of my breaths. Slowly, unabashedly, like it’s something he owns, he runs his hands up my body, over my soft stomach, my heavy tits, and back down again to my thighs. It’s not a possession, but an act of worship, the need to participate in something that fills him with awe.

“You’re way too good at that,” I say, leaning into his touch, his hands passing over me once more before sliding around to my ribcage and spine. Desmond shakes his head softly as he leans in to smile against my lips.

“You realize,” Desmond says, his voice tight. “Now that I’ve had you—” his hands slide down to my ass and he pulls me closer to him. “I’m going to be thinking about every possible way to make you scream like that again.”

“I’m pretty sure you were thinking about that before you had me.” I nip at his lip.

“Maybe,” he admits. “But now that you’ve come on my cock, I’m going to make you do it again and again.”

“Is that so?” I tease, softly licking his mouth.

“Uh huh,” he agrees, his wide hands slowly pumping my hips, rekindling that heat between my legs.

“Really?” I pull back and start to roll my pelvis in his lap. “Because I’m not sure it’s humanly possible to make me come that hard ever again.”

He kisses me deeply, his cock still deep inside me. “Challenge accepted.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Three days later, I’m downtown at the fanciest dress shop in town, surrounded by chandeliers and racks of silk and taffeta. The saleswomen in the boutique hover like ravens in black pencil skirts and stylish hair that’s over-coiffed. I don’t think lavender-haired masseuses who make a blue-collar wage are their normal clientele. I told Arie as much when I looked at the boutique’s website on-line and saw the faux red runway they have for you to parade down to make you feel like a supermodel, the red carpet flanked by chandeliers and sparkling sconces.

“It doesn’t matter if you can’t afford it,” Arie instructed. “Find the dress that makes you feel like a fucking goddess and put it on your credit card.”

“That’s not free money, you know,” I complained. “You actually have to pay that off later.”

“How many times in your life are you going to get to live out a fairytale like this?” She tossed back at me with a knowing smirk.

“Interesting,” I said back. “Because I thought I was supposed to break-up with my Disney-princess obsession?”

“Um, that was when you weren’t getting laid!”

“Oh, so I’m allowed to live-out the princess fantasy—petticoats and tiaras and all—as long as there’s room under all that tulle for Desmond to bone me?”

My sister shrugged. “Now you’re catching on.”

“Barbarian!” I rolled my eyes as I copied the name of the shop and their address into my phone.

“Oh, and no matter what,” Arie continued. “Don’t let Desmond pay for the dress.”

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