Page 55 of Allure

So damn hard.

Rock hard.

I need to see it, feel it, touch it, lick it.

I lick my lower lip, and he growls before descending on my mouth again, this time taking my lower lip in between his and biting it gently. Fuck me.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

“Say what?” I ask, so damn desperate that I know I just might be willing to say anything.

Well, almost anything. I might be drunk on lust, but I’m not a moron.

“Say what you want from me,” he demands.

“No fucking way,” I growl. “You take what you want.”

“Only if you freely give it.”

I yank hard enough to get one of my hands free, and I force him to rub my wetness some more.

"Doesn't that tell you what I want? Now take it if you want me, or leave me here."

“To do what?” he asks smugly.

“Masturbate,” I say, my tone as frank and earnest as can be.

As sexually frustrated as I’ve felt lately, I’ve made a point of not masturbating because I knew who I would be daydreaming about.

The man whose cock is too far away from my pussy because we’re wearing too many clothes.

He seems to agree with this sentiment because he draws back, helping me to sit up, and he goes to undress me.

“You first,” I insist, shaking my head, still wondering about a camera being hidden somewhere.

But he stands and shoves down his shorts and boxers, or maybe he went commando. I don't know because I'm staring at his freed erection.

Shit. I thought maybe he was such a damn bully because he had a tiny peen and was trying to overcompensate, but no. He has a monster of a cock, thick and glorious, with a long vein that bulges, and I lick my lips even though I want to trace that line with my tongue.

His shirt comes off as he steps out of his shorts. “Like what you see?” he asks smugly.

Not taking my gaze away from his cock, I stand, almost stumbling to my feet. He's probably smirking, but I'm beyond caring at this point. I remove my top and my skirt, so I'm just wearing a light pink lacy bra that doesn't really provide much support at all. Their demi cups, so the lace covers my nipples, not the cups themselves. My thong matches, lacy and pink and perfectly feminine.

I'm so glad I just happened to pick them out to wear today. I don't always wear matching sets, and I did pack some regular panties instead of thongs, preferring them when I have my period.

As I reach around to unhook my bra, I can’t help returning his question. “Like what you see?”

I swear I can watch precum ooze from his tip as he stalks toward me. He pushes my hands away before I can take off the bra.

“Leave it on,” he says breathlessly, and he grabs my ass.

“Flat?”

“A little on the flat side,” he contends, and I have to laugh, which turns into a squeal of surprise as he picks me up and then manages to get me onto the bottom bunk. I sure hope this is his bed, but I don’t have time to think about that much because he’s grabbing a condom, rolling it on, and then climbing on top of me. In one swift thrust, he’s inside me, and it’s all I can do not to cry out as he pounds into me, driven by lust, the same lust I feel, and the way his cock fills me, the way he makes me feel, the way he bites my nipple through the lace…

I come, and I come hard, and the release is just what I need. It’s so damn perfect. For those fleeting moments, I feel nothing but pleasure. Nothing else. No fear, no anxiety.

No hatred.

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