Page 31 of Pieces We Keep

I smile at how her gaze is both tender yet horny. Kissing Irina, I stroke her pussy with my cock.

Fucking her would be a relief for us both. She’s so wet. Her flesh sucks at the head of my cock when I tease her. Irina moans my name.

In my head, I’m not ready. Despite my dick leaking like a fucking firehose, I need to taste her first. Lifting her thigh, I inhale her hot scent. I’m intoxicated by her mix of desire and a fruity body wash.

Irina moans deep in her chest when I suck at her pink flesh. Her back arches, offering me more. I tease her clit as she tears at my sheets and sighs my name.

My balls give up. I can’t control myself when her flavor and scent overwhelm me. I stroke out my jizz before focusing fully on her pussy.

I love going down on Irina. She’s animated in a wholly unguarded way. All her defenses are torn away. She’s lost in the pleasure I give her.

Her soft thighs quickly break out in goose bumps. Irina’s breathing turns from gasps to literal panting. She plucks at her fat hard nipples in the same rhythm as my tongue’s movements. I feel her building to another orgasm.

My free hand strokes my cock, as a new erection builds quickly. First, I make her come with my name on her lips. Her pussy offers me everything I demand. My fingers find her hot and willing.

“I demand no more secrets between us,” I say as I climb over her. “Can you promise to hide nothing?”

Irina kisses me, stroking my wet beard. I try to think straight and force an answer from her. My dick struggles to overrule my brain.

“Can you promise?” I ask again when she strokes my cock.

Her blue eyes hold a lifetime of hurt and fear. “No,” she admits. “But I do promise to push myself in a way I wouldn’t with any other man.”

As Irina guides my cock to her wet pussy, I realize I can’t ask more from her until I prove myself.

“That’ll do for now,” I murmur and kiss her again.

Irina nips at my lower lip as my cock spreads her open. I sigh with relief at the feel of her hot flesh tightening around mine. Irina’s pussy is always demanding. The first time I fucked her, her flesh claimed mine. Every thrust broke me a little more.

Maybe I’m just in love with Irina Vickers, meaning she can do no wrong. Her every kiss, smile, and sigh hold more power. I stare into her eyes as I move inside her. I don’t dare look away. This woman felt a million miles away, like a dream fading from memory. She became both something I needed to be happy yet forever out of reach.

Now, she’s under me, whispering my name like I’m the magical one between us.

Yes, I’m most definitely in love with this woman.

I ride my erection through her orgasm despite the demands of her hot and wet pussy. I survive the sight of her face flushing bright red and sweat rising to the surface between her bouncing tits.

Only when Irina licks her fingers and slides them across my nipples does my control break. As my hips jerk, I frown at her making me even crazier.

“I want you to feel good,” Irina mumbles in a voice laced with affection.

The connection between us right now proves to be too much. Egged on by her soft touch and warm gaze, I thrust faster and deeper. My balls throb. My mind goes blank. I can’t remember a damn thing beyond the beautiful woman moving with me right now.

My orgasm tears through me, stealing my earlier worries and cementing my belief in what we share.

“You’re mine,” I demand like a beast starving for more.

Irina doesn’t shrink under my insane tone. She just smiles and whispers, “In every way.”

I want to trust her words. They feel like the truth. We share a connection. Our relationship is more than fucking. The magic between us is real.

However, I don’t really know Irina. I fear she wears rose-colored glasses when it comes to me. Women who party with bikers don’t normally want to keep them. They prefer to stick with wild moments in the dark. Once the sun is up, those women come to their senses and flee from the scary criminals.

Soon, Irina watches me as we rest on our sides, enjoying the hot waves from our earlier fuck. She doesn’t seem desperate or flighty. Irina looks at me like I’m all she thinks about when we’re apart.

I guess I’m the fool. I need to believe we’re magic. I’ve spent most of my life distrusting myself.Is what I feel real? Are the people I trust really my allies? Am I empty inside because of other people or is there something fundamentally wrong with me?

“My favorite color is yellow,” Irina says while stroking my face. “It’s bright and happy. I wanted to wear yellow all the time when I was little. Then, a girl at school said my yellow shirt was ugly. She claimed it made me look poor. I stopped wearing yellow afterward.”

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