Page 29 of Not Mine to Rescue

Or would it?

The tightness was almost too much, but honestly? Exactly right. I could feel the stretch that bordered on scorching burn. It didn’t hurt. The fear it would edged my senses to hyper-alertness. Every bit of him pushing in made me acutely aware that this was the limit of what was comfortable and promised it could be very uncomfortable if I wasn’t ready for it.

His groan matched mine as he seated his whole cock inside.

“Thank god you’re not bigger.” I could feel the tip of it seated deep. My pussy tingled with the fullness of him there.

But that was nothing to what came next.

He slid back and then landed deep again. My walls convulsed and with only a few strokes I was coming hard.

A first for me—Orgasm from penis in vagina alone.

And it didn’t dissipate. He pumped into me and the orgasm got stronger. I begged once, then held on for the ride because I couldn’t do anything else. My skin flushed hot and my head hurt from coming so hard.

He gasped. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” A guttural sound started low and ended in almost a scream leaked from him as he pulsed hard inside me. That echoed in my soul. My pussy pulsed back, and I rode it as I tried to keep my head from blowing right off my spine. I even put a hand there just to be sure I wasn’t breaking apart.

“Random.” It was a plea for mercy, or perhaps a confession.

His hands framed my face clumsily as he rested his weight on his elbows. “You okay?”

My feet slipped from his shoulders. My legs were boneless. My mouth was dry as I mustered an answer. “I think. My head hurts.”

He squinted. “How bad?” His breaths were ragged.

It wasn’t as awful as before. “I think it’s better now.”

“You sure?”

Yes?

He slipped free, and I cried out from the loss.

Wombat pointed at the condom hanging from his cock. “Let me take of this, then I’ll take care of you. ’Promise.”

I blinked at the ceiling. Then some perverse part of me reminded me to check my watch.

Twenty-three minutes. Damn. He kept his word.

A girl could get used to being pampered like that.

Two hours later he’d fulfilled every promise to me. I was fed, blissfully orgasmed twice, and the movie we picked had just finished. The dogs slept on either side of us. DA draped over his legs, and Molly was doing her best to make me into her personal recliner.

“How long has Molly had anxiety issues?” Wombat flipped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and crunched on it.

“Since we got her. She was three months old.”

He thought about that for a while. “Was she weaned too early?”

“No, she was a very happy puppy according to the breeder.”

It was my fault. I studied his profile to debate whether I should confess that.

Funny, he didn’t look as young from the side. His jaw worked as he chewed, giving his profile interesting angles. As I puzzled out why he seemed so different, I admired him. From the front, he had one of those unfortunate faces. Soft skin, sparse beard, freckles and a rounded shape. It made him lose at least five years. In profile, it struck differently. And after discovering what he felt like above me or inside me? No. He was definitely a man. I shivered.

More of one than Jim ever was. He thought things like heartbreak or neglect could be solved with money or gifts. In the short time I’d been with Wombat, the differences were already clear.

I took a chance. “I was diagnosed with postpartum depression and PTSD.”