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“I think it’ll pop before you could even get inside me anyway.” She groans her own fresh arousal from feeling my cock in her chest taking over both of us once I let out another grinding moan of pleasure.
Hell, she’s mine. I can fill her full of my seed forever, and like she says I’ll need to work her sleek valley some more before I can even…
“Uh. Fuck. Yes. Becky...”
Cheeky girl.
She’s bobbed her whole mouth over as much as she can take. Pumping the rest of my cock to what I already know is going to be an explosive release.
“On my tits. On my tits,” she begs me, her voice rising to a whine as she grips me harder.
Smiling wide as she sees the reward for her efforts, astonished.
The first deep moan is followed by a thick bead running down my shaft.
But as my climax extends, I watch and growl with satisfaction as each thick nipple, breast and even her face and hair is laced with heavy ropes of my heat.
“Oh… Oh. Dillon…” she purrs, slowing her pumping, rubbing my seed all over and into the smooth skin of her chest.
Running my thumb across her chin. Letting her taste a little of what she’s wearing right now I feel myself back at full attention in less than a minute.
I could suck and fuck my girl all day, and all night and still have change left over.
“Mine,” I remind her, bending down and kissing the top of her head, proud when I taste a little more of myself that’s in her hair.
The rest of her in the air between us.
All mine.
Chapter Thirteen
Becky
All my shaking, all my insecurities, and self-conscious thoughts stop once we’ve done what we both know we wanted.
What we needed.
I know I won’t fully be his until he’s filled me with his babies, but Dillon’s staked his claim about as pronounced and firm as any man could.
He swore he’d only ever come inside me, our first time. But this energy between us. This attraction of our bodies, as well as minds, has been too much for both of us, and all in just one day.
Love at first sight?
Yes. Although I know Dillon would never say it like that. He’s got too much macho in him to be so openly soft, just yet.
But oh, how he trembled when I finally plucked up the courage to even attempt to take as much of him into my mouth as could as the rest of him played between my tits.
If it was a fantasy. Even if I had dreamed the whole thing, it’s been the most intense experience so far.
But it was real.
I’m not dreaming, and the now hot marble underneath me, and the traces of his heat cooling slightly on my naked flesh rubbing against me proves it.
I open my mouth, not to even try to take him again. But to tell him something.
To tell him how I know I already feel, but it’s all still so surreal.
Nothing could be this simple, could it?
A short, heavy set girl with a world of problems goes to work one day and has the man of her dreams not only sweep her off her feet.
He puts those feet over his own broad shoulders and shows her how she needs to be treated from now on, and only grunts the same thing whenever she doubts it.
That I’m his.
I am his. I know I am.
Even after crying into his huge barreled chest after he showed me more affection and focus than the whole world has in nineteen years.
I’ve never felt so alive either. Never felt so satisfied and relieved.
Without wanting to wriggle free from him completely, I at least let him set me down and picking up his shirt that he’s tossed, I drape it over myself. Instinctively buttoning the front just a little.
Still shy about my soft stomach.
Still soaking up his essence though. His seed, nourishing my body through my skin.
My rivet nipples I’m sure will never be soft again as long as he’s around.
His large shirt hangs on me like a robe anyway and his prolonged growl of satisfaction tells me he likes what he sees.
My own wardrobe is instantly redundant.
“Eat,” he commands, jutting his chiseled jaw towards the food, most of which is still warm and still way more appealing than anything else I had planned an hour earlier.
He settles me on a thick wooden stool at the counter and standing behind me uses both hands on mine to fill a plate high with the tastiest meal I’ve had in months.
His over-the-top style is to even put the fork and knife he has ready into my hands. His huge hand then traces down my back before he kisses my neck tenderly.
Taking his side of the counter opposite me as I shiver under the memory of his recent touch.
