Page 65 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
I reach the head of the bed, leaning against headboard and pillows, and he’s above me, reaching for me. His hand curls around the back of my neck and he lifts me up to him, taking a dizzying kiss from me. Again, as with every time I’ve ever kissed Jesse, I’m soon lost in it. In him. In the sweep of his tongue and the slant of his lips and the warm huff of his breath. He’s just as lost in the kiss, I want to think, lowering himself over me, burying his mouth against mine, moaning into my breath. Curling me closer, his hands exploring my body without purpose except to feel me, to touch me, to indulge in the pleasure of my feminine flesh.
The drugging potency of his kiss dizzies me, leaves me gasping. “Jesse…” I whisper.
He brushes a thumb over my cheekbone. “Imogen?”
“Kiss me again. And…please, don’t stop.”
He levers an arm beside my head, supporting his weight on it as he opens a drawer in his bedside table. Withdrawing a box of condoms, he rips the top open with a glance at me. “Brand-new box because I’ve never brought anyone here. I bought these today, hoping and fantasizing about bringing you here someday. I didn’t think it’d actually happen today, though.”
He rips a square free and tosses the box and the rest of the strip aside, and moves back to his knees. Hands shaking with need and with anticipation, I take the wrapper from him and tear it open to reveal the ring inside. I remove it, fit the latex to the thick, round head of him, and roll it down, hand over hand, enjoying the way he groans incoherently at my touch.
Instead of moving over me, he reaches for me, extending his hand. I take it, and he draws me upright to a sitting position. He sinks back to sit on his heels, and pulls me to him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, unsure of his intent.
His only response is to guide me up onto my knees and then to sit on my heels in a mirror of his own position, so we’re both on our knees, sitting on our heels facing each other. He draws me closer yet, palming a breast as I lean into him, his other hand going for my ass. My own hands begin their own exploration, sliding over his massive shoulders and down the serpentine S of his spine to his firm buttocks. His lips find mine, and now I can delve into this, now I can trust him to know what he’s doing with me. When he kisses me, the world fades and my doubts vanish and my fears are erased and everything is right and perfect, because he’s kissing me.
The deeper our kiss goes, the wilder my pulse hammers, the hotter and wetter my core becomes. The more I need him.
I lift up on my knees, smashing my breasts against his chest, clutching his face in both hands. His palms cup my ass, lifting me higher, and now I understand.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He lifts me up, pulls me close. My pulse is a coruscating crescendo in my veins, and my heart—the physical one—is squeezing madly, while my metaphysical heart is blossoming open like a flower stretching upward for the sunrise. I reach between us, clutch the latex-sheathed magnificence of his erection and guide him to me.
I have to break the kiss to whimper as the head nudges my opening.
“Jesse…” I sob.
His voice is as ragged as mine when he answers. “God…Imogen.”
He grips a buttock in each hand, holding me up, and I clutch him, drawing out the moment.
It’s up to me, I realize.
He’s waiting for me.
I press my forehead to his and breathe in slowly, take his upper lip between my teeth, and claim a fierce, wilding, ungentle kiss. He moans, a sound I feel in the crush of my breasts against his chest—he needs me, that’s what the moan says: don’t draw it out any longer.
I sink down onto him, sobbing as he fills me. His roar laces through my sob, and he releases my ass to let me slap down onto his thighs. He fills me and stretches me and I can’t take anymore, but I’m still stretching around him, and I’m filled by the burning aching swell of accepting his enormity inside me. He’s fully impaled in me now, and I’m sitting on his thighs. My breasts are pressed against his face, and he takes the opportunity to bathe my nipples with kisses, and then he moves to the undersides, in the tender flesh where they meet my chest, the delicate inner skin, and then finally he takes my nipple into his mouth and suckles until I moan, and have to move.
I rise up, whimpering as he slicks out of me, until just the fat thick head remains inside me, and then I crush downward, a loud shriek leaving me as he spears into me. His voice joins mine, a guttural cry as he drives in, our hips meeting once more. He cups my breasts and lifts them to his mouth, worshipping them one and then the other in alternating rhythm.
