Page 63 of Before You Fell

“Spread your fucking legs for me.”

I line my cock up and push in slowly, watching her face change as I do.

The first tight, wet grip of her cunt around my cock nearly takes the arrogance right out of my mouth.

“Fuck, Wills,” I breathe, my hands locking on her thighs as my eyes shut for half a second.

Bad idea. It makes it worse, because the sensation of her pussy taking me after years of wondering is a special kind of punishment. She is hotter than every filthy thought I have ever had about her. Tighter than anything my imagination had the decency to prepare me for and so much better than the version I built in my head that my cock should probably send a thank-you card and an apology.

I have had practice. A lot of fucking practice. Anything with a pretty mouth, loose morals, and the terrible judgment to say yes to me. Enough that my cock should be a seasoned professional by now. Then I slide my cock into Willow Hart and she somehow makes every other woman in my memory seem inadequate.

I move slow enough to pretend I have a choice.

That lie lasts for about half a second. Willow makes a sound, digs her nails into my shoulders, and whatever control I thought I had snaps clean in half.

I fuck her hard. Hard enough that the counter knocks against the wall and a stack of bar towels slides off the shelf beside us.

“Fuck, Wills,” I groan, gripping her hips tighter. “Your pussy feels so fucking good.”

My hips move before my brain can issue any useful instructions, rolling into her like my cock has taken over the whole operation and let me along for the ride.

She moans and the sound hits me straight in the chest.

Being inside her is obscene. Tight, wet, hot enough to make my thoughts start chewing through their own leash. Every thrust drags another sound out of her and I get greedy for it fast.

I slide one hand between us and find her clit with my thumb. Her whole body jerks.

“Yeah?” I breathe, watching her face. “That’s it, baby. I knew you’d fucking like me touching you there.”

I rub her there, soft and slow at first, then harder when her moan turns sharp.

I fuck her like a madman, as if control is something that happened to other people with better childhoods and softer drugs. Every thrust is filthy around my cock. It's tight, wet and so fucking unforgettable that I already hate her a little for it.

Because this is going to stick. I know it before I can talk myself out of it. The sensation of her. The sound of her. The way her body grips me as if it has been waiting for this too.

I drive into her harder as my thumb still works her clit and her moan tears out of her—raw and loud enough to make my teeth clench.

Her moan breaks wide open and the sound nearly makes me lose my mind.

Willow is loud. Not fake loud. Not backstage-girl performance and pretty little lies for the story later. Real loud. The kind of loud that makes my cock think it deserves a round of applause.

I have wondered about whether she was loud too many fucking times.

Turns out, yes. A very fucking big yes. And apparently I am no better, because the groan that tears out of me is louder than anything I have ever given another woman.

“Yeah,” I groan, my hips snapping into her hard enough to make the counter hit the wall. “That’s it, Wills. Bet this is the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

She moans again and fuck me. I want to save the sound as my ringtone. I want it on repeat. Stored somewhere filthy for later, when I’m alone with my hand around my cock and jerk off thinking about this.

My balls draw tight, that deep, brutal warning that I am about to lose the fight and embarrass myself in this condom if I don’t get her there first. That’s not fucking happening.

I flick her clit harder with my thumb and drive into her again.

“I want to feel that pussy come around my cock.”

Her whole body jerks. Her thighs clamp around my hips and her mouth falls open on a sound that is half moan and half swear, as she loses control under me. Her cunt tightens hard around my cock, pulsing so tight I nearly see God, which is fucking inconvenient because I’m not in the mood to thank anyone for this except myself.

“Fuck,” I groan, my hips snapping once, twice, barely controlled.