I trail my fingers over the ridges of his stomach, down the V, toward his length. It twitches with every inch I cover.
I’ve never seen a dick in my life, but I know very well what can be done with one.If even half of what I’ve read is true, I can make him feel good.
And if I fail today? Then I’ll do what he did. I’ll study.
I circle the base with my fingers. Veins ridge against my skin—thick, prominent, like it might burst. I look up at the handsome face of my man, and it clearly looks like the face of a man whose dick is about to explode.
I hold the base lightly, my fingers and thumb not touching my palm yet—four fingers on one side, thumb on the other—and move a featherlight touch from base to tip, feeling every veined texture.
His whole body locks up as I reach the tip. I look up at his face. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m afraid it might crack. His breath has gone staggered. I can feel a gush of fluid coming from me, soaking my well-licked, thoroughly pleased cleft.
“You like that?” My voice comes out thin, strained.
He nods rigidly.
I smile and repeat the same motion, sliding from the now-leaking tip down to the base, then back up again.
A throaty groan vibrates out of him. His head falls back, baring the length of his throat.
I settle onto his thighs, straddling him, my center pressing against the base of his length. His hands find my hips the moment I’m settled, then slide lower, gripping.
I release him and trail my hands up—over his stomach, his chest—until they come to rest on his shoulders.
I shift closer. The base of him presses against my clit, and I hum in pleasure, biting my lower lip.
His gaze rakes over me—from my face to where we’re pressed together. Lust has sharpened his features, made him even more beautiful.
I rock my clit against him, up and down. His eyes droop halfway. His lips part.
I press kisses along his neck, over his earlobe, along his jaw, and finally, his mouth. I lift myself slowly. He positions himself at my entrance. I push down, slowly.
The pain is still there, as sharp as the first time. Our mouths part. Our mouths separate. I press my forehead to his, breathing through the pain. It subsides when he’s fully seated inside me.
“Are you okay?” His voice is rough.
I hum. “You?”
“Too good. Your pussy is so wet. So warm.”
I pull back to look at him, amused. “Are you dirty talking right now?”
His lips quirk into a lazy smile. “Just stating facts.”
I lift myself, taking him partway out, then sink back down onto him. His eyes close. The pain has faded quickly, replaced by a fullness that feels incredible.
I do it again, taking more of him each time. After few strokes, I still.
“Your turn.” I whisper it against his mouth.
His grip tightens on my ass. He lifts me, then slams up into me. A loud moan spills from my lips as more of my wetness coats him. I can feel myself dripping onto him.
He thrusts again. And again. I start moving with him, matching his rhythm, his force. The room fills with sound—skin meeting skin, the wet rhythm of us, our moans tangled together. I just hope it doesn’t reach my phone.
We quicken, chasing release together, and with loud, ragged groans, we both shatter. He hugs me tightly, his body shaking against my shuddering one.
We stay like that for a long time, catching our breath, tangled in each other’s heat and sweat.
“That was really good.” I murmur it against his shoulder, still breathless.
