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For years, as shameful as he’d known it was, he’d lain back beneath his lovers when they’d touched him like this and imagined it was Lyrica. Imagined her lips touched him. Imagined her nails were rasping over his flesh as she lowered the waistband of the thin pants he wore over the pounding length of his cock.
“Fuck!” The groan was torn from his lips as her hair, like warm, living silk, brushed over his sensitive length.
“Ah hell, Lyrica, baby . . .” His body tightened to a breaking point as her hot little tongue moved lovingly over the crest of his cock.
Licking, tasting him, she drew the bead of pre-cum from the slit at the tip as her emerald gaze darkened in rising hunger. A heated flush covered her face, and drowsy, sensual, sexual pleasure suffused her expression.
When her swollen lips parted and sucked the engorged, darkened head of his cock into her mouth, he nearly lost his control over the semen pounding in his balls. She was loving it. He could see it in her eyes. Loving the pleasure she was giving him. Loving the tension and rising hunger building inside him that was impossible to hide.
The lashing pleasure enclosing the sensitive, too tight crown drew a hard, agonized grimace of pleasure to his face. Jaw tight, his thighs bunching, he felt the electric heat surrounding him, searing into his cock as she sucked him deep. Her tongue stroked as her mouth worked over the heavy width. Drawing him in, drawing back, taking him until he knew the full depths of her mouth with an intimate eroticism he wouldn’t have expected.
“That’s it,” he groaned, the sound resembling a rasp of erotic torture. “Suck it deep, baby. Give me that pretty mouth.”
Those pretty, pouty lips stretched around the width of his flesh, consuming the crown and working it with such pleasure that holding back was becoming next to impossible. His hips moved to her suckling, her caressing, the moist heat of her mouth causing his cock to throb, his balls aching to release.
Tightening his grip on her hair as he leaned back into the pillows behind him, his hips lifted, thrusting shallowly as the innocence in her eyes combined with the carnal act sent his blood pressure rocketing.
Son of a bitch. She was killing him.
“Fuck. That’s it, Lyrica . . . baby . . .” Groaning at the whiplash sensations racing to his balls and gathering at the base of his spine, he knew holding back had become a second-by-second triumph.
“Ah hell.” His fingers clenched in her hair again, hips rising and falling as he held her to him, fucking her lips with tenuous control. “Baby. This isn’t going to last much . . . ah fuck!”
Delicate, silken fingers encased his balls, playing with them, her fingertips rubbing and stroking, sending erratic, electric currents wrapping around his scrotum, tightening . . . The sweet, hot suckling flames surrounding the crest of his dick tightened, drew him deeper. Her tongue licked and stroked and Graham lost his mind.
He felt it rupture. Felt his control snap, pleasure exploding through him with tidal waves of force as his body jerked tight and his semen blasted into the snug depths of her mouth.
And she took him.
Pulse after pulse of his seed spilling to her throat and he felt her shuddering, felt her vibrating around his cock as he swore something far more important than his release rocked from his senses and flowed from him to her.
What the fuck was he doing?
What was he allowing to happen with this woman? What was he losing to her when he’d sworn he’d never lose another part of himself to anyone?
And he was helpless against it. He was helpless against her, arched in a pleasure he knew he’d never before touched as he spilled his release to the suckling depths of her mouth. But she was the one marking him, he knew. She was marking his soul, destroying him, and he was helping her.
Pulling back, watching her lips release him, seeing the sweet, soft innocence in her eyes, he knew it didn’t matter how hard he tried to tell himself no woman could be so innocent. He’d been telling himself that for six years now, and it did him as much good now as it had that first day he’d met her.
Because he wasn’t pulling away from her.
His senses were so immersed in her, so rocked by the pleasure and the sensations overtaking him, that his cock was just as hard now as it had been before he spilled his release to those tempting lips.
God help him.
Quickly rolling a condom on, he couldn’t think of anything but having her again. Feeling the warmth of her, the sweet innocence that still softened her gaze.
Pulling her to him, over him, he tucked the head of his cock at the saturated entrance of her vagina and, holding her hips with one hand, began easing her onto his erection.
Breathing harshly, air sawing from his lungs, he tried, oh god, he tried to go easy. Tried to take her gently. He wanted to take her gently. But the lust raging through him had other ideas.
His hips pushed upward, separating swollen muscles, becoming enclosed in a slick, so-fucking-hot, rippling vise of pure ecstasy.
“Ride me, Lyrica,” h
e groaned, finally seating himself fully, her fist-tight grip surrounding his sensitive flesh and throwing him straight back into that swirling vortex of inevitable destruction.
Straightening above him she began moving, her hands lifting to her breasts, watching him, drowsy, dazed green eyes glittering between heavy lashes. Lashes that flickered in growing ecstasy as her thumbs and fingers plucked firmly at her little nipples.
