Page 70 of Imperfect Player

She slides her lips and tongue over my cock in such a torturously slow manner that I think I might literally die if she doesn’t speed up. I’m loving every fucking second of it.

Her lips release me with a pop. Her eyes meet mine with a wicked gleam.

What in the fuck is she up to? What could she . . .

The thought evaporates as she does just what I was wondering about.

Her hand wraps around the base of my shaft. She begins to pump me, slow at first then faster as her mouth crashes over me again. Quick, deep.

“Oh, fuck.”

Unable to resist the urge, I fist my hand in her hair, my hips bucking up, forcing her just a little deeper. It’s hard, carnal. The sound of her gagging and moaning has me on the fucking verge. As much as I would love to finish in that gorgeous mouth of hers, see my cum drip from between her lips, I instead pull her off.

“Ride me,” I tell her.

It’s the one position I hadn’t had her in last night. There were so many things I wanted to do that I needed the control. I needed her how I wanted her.

My eyes are glued to her as I roll the condom over me. She reaches for the hem of the shirt she’s been wearing, pulling it over her head and tossing it behind her. Once I’m sheathed, I slide my fingers between her already-parted thighs. So wet. So ready.

“You are so fucking sexy,” I tell her.

Even though she’s before me, completely naked, body getting situated over mine—more specifically, my cock—she blushes. Her cheeks become this rosy pink. Her smile shy. My hands hold her hips, and she stills, as though waiting for or maybe expecting me to take over.

“Oh no, sunshine. This is all you. I’m just holding on for dear life.”

Just as she had done when she took me in her mouth, she slowly takes me into her tight pussy.

Breathe, Ambrose. Breathe, I tell myself, hoping not to fucking come the moment I’m fully inside her. Because that’s what she’s doing to me. She’s unearthing me. And I don’t want her to stop.

She sinks down on me until I’m completely bottomed out in her. Her eyes meet mine, her hands massaging her tits.

Fuck. Yes. Jesus.

Goddamn perfection.

Perfectly imperfect, that’s what we are.

As she grinds against me, my hands running all over her body, I’m done.

Not physically. Not orgasmically.

Emotionally.

She has me by the balls. Literally. Figuratively. I’m hers. Body and fucking soul.

“Just like this,” I tell her, before she does something stupid like trying to quicken the pace to please me. She has no idea the immense pleasure I’m feeling. Balls, cock, heart.

Every goddamn piece of me is in a state of immense happiness, and I’m not ready to let it go. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

So, we do this. We rock together. Slowly. Sensually. Hands exploring. Kissing. nipping. Her body upright at first, then splayed over mine, her hands on either side of my face. Tits dangling in my face.

Sex. Pleasure. Promises.

It’s all here. It’s all exactly what I fucking need.

Her. Us.

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