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She moaned into the pillow and her pussy tightened around him, clenching and unclenching, driving him even quicker to that final destination.
“Come with me,” she moaned.
“Ready?” He sure as fuck was.
“Almost. Clit.”
He released one of her hands and snaked his beneath her. Once again using his calloused fingers against her sensitive nub, her hips jumping against him before falling back into their rhythm.
“Whip…” she groaned, fisting her free hand in the sheet. “Whip…”
“Right here, babe. Got you.”
“Don’t stop.”
No fucking way he was stopping.
“Oh… don’t stop.”
“Not gonna. Give me you. Give me everythin’.”
“Take it. Oh God, take it from me. Take it all.”
She said shit like that when she was ready to come. She didn’t when they first hooked up but now that they were completely comfortable with each other and had discovered a lot about each other along the way, she had begun to open up even more.
He fucking loved every second of it, every word that slipped from her.
She could call him a “stupid motherfucking asshole,” but as long as she did it in the same way she did when she was about to explode around him, he wouldn’t give a fuck.
“It’s all yours.”
Jesus. That wasn’t helping. It only made him want to pound her pussy harder. “C’mon, babe,” he growled the encouragement in her ear. “Soak my fuckin’ dick.”
Wearing a wrap sucked because he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel when she gushed around him. That warm honey coating him. The proof of how good they were together.
How they simply clicked.
“I’m coming,” was screamed into the pillow, followed by a muffled cry.
Thank fuck, since she wasn’t the only one.
He slammed into her twice more, stayed deep the second thrust and grunted into her ear as he spilled inside her. Once again, making him wish he wasn’t wearing a goddamn wrap.
He wanted to fuck her without one. He wanted to feel every fucking tiny pulse, every ripple, every drop of goodness. He wanted “it all.” He couldn’t feel it all with latex covering his fucking dick.
If she planned on staying in town, he’d ask for that, because he had seen she was on the Pill. She left her pack sitting on the counter in the bathroom in plain view.
Since she wasn’t staying, he didn’t ask.
After learning about the sweet butts, he doubted she’d ever agree to him raw-dogging it with her, even though he always wrapped it tight whenever he was with a woman. He always took precautions, even with Billie when they were exclusive.
He never fooled himself with the idea that Billie wasn’t seeing other guys and not telling him. He knew he hadn’t been enough for her, that she needed certain shit that he couldn’t give her. He couldn’t fault her if she had been finding that elsewhere.
He didn’t ask and she didn’t volunteer that info. But she seemed to be much happier once she became a sweet butt than when she was his “girlfriend.”
Some people weren’t meant to be monogamous. He had no doubt Billie was one of them. At least at this point in her life.
To each his own.
He released their clasped hands, planted his palms on the bed, and relieved some of his weight off Fallon. He asked what he always did before pulling out, “You good?”
Because if she wasn’t, he’d do his best to get her there. There was no fucking way he was leaving her unsatisfied.
He was not going to be a selfish prick in bed. If he was, he’d probably find himself outside looking in with a fuck-load of regrets. And if he was like that, she’d most likely regret letting him in her bed.
He’d seen his brothers be selfish with women, not with their ol’ ladies but with others—sweet butts, hang-arounds, whoever—and Whip wouldn’t want that shit done to him. So, he didn’t do it to the women he was with. Not fucking ever.
He made sure the woman got what she needed before going their separate ways, even if he had to grit his teeth to get it done.
Dutch was a good example of who he didn’t want to become. Though, the man got more pussy than any of them. The Original had some sort of skill no one could put a finger on.
Fallon’s answer of, “Perfect,” drew him back to the bed.
“Gonna pull out,” he warned her, grabbing the wrap at the root of his dick and slipping from her.
He rolled away, removed the wrap, tied it off and tossed it into the small trash can they now kept near the bed. Fallon had come up with that solution since she quickly got sick of full wraps being found where they shouldn’t be. But Whip was never in a rush to leave the bed to dispose of them.
The compromise meant he didn’t have to rush to get up, and she didn’t have to step barefoot on a full wrap in the dark. Once was all it took for the trash can to appear on his side of the bed.
