Page 62 of Weston’s Treasure

I was dizzy.

Weston’s lips and hands had been everywhere. He’d started with a bruising kiss that would’ve melted my panties had I been wearing any. Then his lips moved to my neck, then both of his hands came to my breasts, pushing them together, paying close attention to my nipples, sucking and nibbling until I was wiggling and begging him for more. Then he’d moved lower, dragging his tongue down my stomach and finally much lower. He’d tossed my legs over his shoulders and feasted.

He was relentless in his pursuit. Mouth, tongue, fingers. He’d engaged all three and I was helpless to hold back. It would’ve been embarrassing if it hadn’t been so fucking glorious at the speed in which he brought me to a screaming orgasm.

But he didn’t relent, not when my hands tugged at his hair, not when my hips bucked, not when I pleaded with him to fuck me. He kept going, torturing me, building me back up.

I couldn’t take it.

I was dizzy with it. I needed him and I needed him right then.

“Weston,” I panted between moans. “Please, honey. I’m ready.” He flicked my clit and I jolted. “Now, Weston. I need you, right fucking now.”

He pushed up, forcing my legs to fall from his shoulders, and before I could beg anymore, he was looming over me, mouth on mine, his hand working between us. Then I felt it—the head of his cock pushing through my wetness.

My back arched and my hips tipped up in invitation. He slowly rocked into me, still kissing me rough. The mix of the sensations kept me on the edge. So opposite, I didn’t know what to concentrate on. Both felt great, both made me dizzy.

I tore my mouth from his and begged, “More.”

“No, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He sounded hungry and suddenly I felt brave. The sound of his voice, knowing he wanted me as much as I wanted him, empowering.

“More,” I demanded, and locked my legs around his hips using all the strength I could muster to bring him closer.

“Silver,” he growled and surged forward.

The force of his thrust taking my breath, I was full of him, so full I thought I’d burst. His hand came to my breast, thumb and forefinger to my nipple and pinched. The pain turned into a sizzle and my clit pulsed.

“Oh my God,” I panted.

Weston slid out to the tip and asked, “Can you take it?”

“Yes. More.”

He drove home, but this time didn’t wait, he pulled out, pushed in, and plucked and played with my nipple. I lost track of time, lost track of everything but what Weston was doing. I felt it all. The way his thick cock stretched me, the way the engorged head of his cock rubbed inside of me, a place so wondrous, every time he bumped it I screamed out in ecstasy.

“More?” he grunted and the sound made me shiver—from my toes to my fingertips. “Yeah, my baby wants more. I want your hands on me, Silver.”

Momentarily I felt stupid, I’d been lamely fisting the sheets. But when my hands went to his back, the strain of his muscles under my palms, all the power I knew he was keeping under control—suddenly I wanted him to lose it.

Unleash it.

“Harder, honey.”

Weston rocked into me harder, driving faster, rougher, stealing the oxygen from my lungs, building something so big I knew when it broke I’d fly apart.

I wanted it.

I wanted him to have it.

“You need my finger on your clit?”

“No. Harder, Weston. Fuck me harder.”

“Get there, baby, I’m close,” he grunted.

My pussy spasmed, clutching his cock, I felt a gush of wetness, and then with four limbs wrapped around Weston, I flew apart.