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“I don’t like it. Here, give me that condom!”
“Do I trust you?”
“Never trust me.” She went to bite his neck and they fell around laughing and kissing, until she managed to pull the condom pack from his hand. Finally, kneeling above her, his thighs scissoring her pelvis, Solo let her take over. His gaze burned into her as she concentrated on ripping the packet with her teeth. Swiftly, she rolled the condom down his erection, then cupped his balls, heavy and rock-hard. Just like his beautiful big cock.
When he sank between her legs, Polly opened to accommodate him with a sigh.
So what if it was missionary position? So what if it was good old orthodox vanilla-flavoured sex? It felt beyond amazing as Solo hovered, then thrust, then drew out and did it all over again. Lips tight, eyes like lightning streaks in his taut face, his beauty commanded her to watch. He bit his lip, the veins in his neck prominent as he focused. With each one of his deep thrusts, her pleasure escalated, needing him deeper, harder, needing… more… She pressed her palms into his buttocks, pulling him closer, and he slammed into her.
How could it be that her body was begging again for relief?
As if he read her, he whispered against her ear, ‘Touch yourself.”
A guy had never instructed her to do it, but it seemed Solo knew instinctively what was needed.
“I want us to come together,” he husked out and gently took her hand and placed it in between her legs. Her fingers grazed the rigid base of his cock, his balls nudging against her fingers as their bodies found purchase and rhythm.
He was close, she could tell by the swell of him inside her, but god, so was she, soooo sooo close… Her fingers moved faster.
Solo’s vivid gaze held hers. “Come with me.”
Their eyes locked.
To her infinite surprise the sheer intimacy of it catapulted Polly right over the edge. As she spasmed tight around him, she felt him release deep inside her.
Heard her name rung out of his lips.
And all the time those silver eyes held hers in thrall.
Finally, he slumped heavy against her, breathing hard and she wrapped her arms around his sweat-slicked body. Letting her hands shimmy around his back, up his neck and into his damp hair, Polly gulped down the tightness in her throat and blinked away the watery feeling in her eyes.
No big deal.
It was just a case of multiple orgasms messing with her brain chemistry.
Nothing more.
* * *
Solo lay panting,loving the feel of her fingers smoothing through his hair. He had to withdraw. Take the damned galoshes off his cock. But all he wanted was to hold her close.
His release had been so mind-blowing, so powerful, he actually wasn’t sure what he’d shouted.
He just knew he’d yelled a hell of a lot and the word “Polly” had featured high on the list. Christ, he wouldn’t have had a clue if Carts had come home in the middle of it, but with the amount of “Oh my god, Polly” he’d shouted, he’d probably left the whole street in no doubt as to who he was fucking.
He rolled over and she made an appreciative sound that made him feel like he was exiting the podium after scoring gold in the Olympics. He removed the condom and knotted it, and chucked it with expert precision at the bin. Then he rolled back to face her.
To his absolute delight, she snuggled into him, pushing damp curls off her face and eyeing him out of bright perky eyes. She was so beautiful his breath caught; swollen lips, pink cheeks and an orgasm flush between her breasts. He loved how easily they enjoyed each other physically. There seemed to be no barriers when the clothes were off. Maybe they should stay naked in bed for a week, a la John Lennon and Yoko Ono.
Stroking her cheek gently, he said, “You look gorgeous when you come.”
Her mouth quirked, “Glad my O face met with your approval.”
He kissed her forehead. She snuggled into him and her curls tickled his nose. It was tempting to tease her that a mere week and a half ago she’d warned him she didn’t fraternise with work colleagues, but he wasn’t going to test his luck. If it were up to him, this would be only the beginning…
He frowned. The beginning of what?
He didn’t know, except he didn’t want to think of an end point…
