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I feel my juices spreading all over my thighs, all over his thighs too. A thick stream of it is running down between the cheeks of my ass and smearing over that dark hole of mine. And that is so shameful, so erotic that my spine bows.
Clutching his biceps, I arch and arch, taking it all, soaking up the sounds, filling my lungs with the tangy smell of our sex. I take it all and I moan.
Yeah, I moan at his every stab, his every ram and his every pound.
I’m moaning as loud as last night, rattling the windows, alerting everyone in the world that I’m being fucked by him.
By the man I love.
And he loves my screams so much that he comes back down again. He roams his hands on the outside of my body, tracing my sweaty, jiggling curves before settling them on my thighs. He raises them up and hooks them around his waist tightly, making me hold onto him as he rides my cunt.
He rides it and rides it to the point where I think I’ll come again.
I’ll come for the third time just because he’s beating into me so good.
So, so good.
But more than that, it’s him.
It’s the look he’s giving me, like he can’t get enough. It’s his husky, thick breaths that echo in the room, echo in my soul.
It’s the way he’s grabbing onto my face with both hands and the way he’s so tightly locked around my body.
And it’s his words again.
His growly, sand-papery, panting words. “Pussy so tight you can’t put a tampon in, huh? How come you’re taking me so good now? How come your pussy is eating me up, Jailbait?”
His slurred words make me so full, as full as his cock is making me, as full and tightly wound as if his meaty fist is pressing down on my stomach.
“Graham, I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”
As soon as I tell him, it happens.
I jerk against him and my eyes clench shut. They shut so tight that I feel like I’ll never get them open again.
I’ll never catch my breath again either. My heart will never stop hammering. My pussy will never stop clenching over his length.
And he’ll never stop telling me things in his savage, broken voice. So savage that it doesn’t even sound human. They sound like they belong to a beast.
“Fuck, fuck. Tight fucking pussy,” he says as I writhe around on his cock. “God, so greedy. So goddamn greedy. You’re gonna make me come…”
And then, he comes as well.
He comes with a large shove and stumbling, stuttering strokes that I feel in my teeth. He groans and I open my eyes to catch him arching up, his neck strained and his Adam’s apple jutting out. His chest is so tight that I feel like his bones will bust through as he jerks inside of me, his cock pulsing.
He’s so beautiful like this. So breathtaking and wonderful.
So perfect that my heart swells.
It floats inside my body with unadulterated happiness.
This is what it feels like, I think. When your dreams come true. When something you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours.
He is mine.
This man is mine.
At least, some part of him is. At least, until the summer ends and I go back to where I came from. Not college, no. Not to a guy who’ll love me.
But to that town that has never seen me. The town that’s never looked at me or paid attention to me until I kissed the man I love.
The town where I was always lonely.
Finally, he rides his climax to the end and looks down at me, breaking my strangely morose thoughts. His messy hair falls on his forehead and his eyes look relieved.
Gosh, I’ve never seen so much relief in someone.
It’s leaking out of him like sweat. Drops and drops of it that fall on my skin as he comes down at me.
I meet him in the middle.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lift myself up so I can go hug him, while he’s still twitching inside my fluttering pussy.
I kiss his cheek and whisper, “Thank you for making all my dreams come true, Mr. Edwards.”
His answer is to kiss me and despite everything, I smile into it.
I smile because I’m eighteen and his.
***
I wake up a few hours later only to find him gone.
His side of the bed is warm, so I guess he’s just left it. With a wary heart, I climb out of bed and wear his discarded plaid shirt, going out of the room.
The back door of the cabin is open and I walk up to it.
And there he is.
Under the moonlight, working on his roses.
His shoulders are bent and he’s clipping the dead leaves, holding them in his hands so gently, so reverently. Like he held me a few hours ago.
