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Weston
Lucy peers up at me,the fear that had been in her doe eyes now replaced with desire. She’s so fucking sweet. And heaven help me, I want a taste.
My dick hardened the moment I saw her hand tucked between her thighs, her cheeks flushed as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. When she ran, I followed without thought, told myself I just wanted to make sure she was all right. But the longer I stalked her, the more I wanted her. Her perfectly round ass peeked out from under her short skirt every time she leapt over a log or started up a small incline. I wanted to claim her. Gods be damned, I wanted to sink inside her tight pussy and never leave.
I know she’s a virgin. Malcom bitched often enough about the fact that she wouldn’t put out until she graduated. My son’s lack of tact and restraint annoyed the hell out of me. I marveled at the thought of being the first cock to slide inside her haven, for her soft flesh to give way to my steel. It’s a gift, a wonderous fucking gift she was willing to give him, and he was too stupid to realize it.
All he had to do was wait a few more hours, but no... his dick led him right to the first warm hole he could slide into.
That’s fine.
Good, even.
He wouldn’t have known how to usher her into this new world, anyway. He probably would’ve rammed straight through her hymen and hurt her.
When I finally caught up to her, it took everything in me not to drag her closer and feast on the flesh she was offering so willingly. Like a lamb to slaughter.
Then she launched herself at me, her warm lips pressing into mine. And the reins snapped.
I pull her against my chest, and her breasts push into me, rising and falling with rapid succession. My cock goes rock hard as her small hands wrap around my biceps then slide to my neck.
Her mouth connects with mine again, her tongue slipping across my lips, teasing mine. My hands slide down her back to her ass, squeezing. Perfectly round and plump. She moans into my mouth, gasping when I lift her a little and grind my cock against her.
I ease her feet back to the ground and trail my fingers across the soft flesh of her ass. She bows her back, pushing her ass into the air, allowing me easier access to her core. A growl rumbles deep in my throat as I run a finger across her panties. Soaked. They’re fucking soaking wet with her desire.
“Are you wet for me, Little Dove?”
She whimpers, her head nodding.
The need to taste her, to sink my tongue in between her folds and lap every drop of moisture from her, overcomes me, but I force myself to slow.
She’s untouched.
Primed as she may be, rushing will still hurt her. And the last fucking thing I want to do is cause her pain.
Not from this, anyway.
I trace the curve of her mound one more time, pressing softly against her entrance before pulling my hands away. She quivers with the motion. Fucking quivers in my hands like a bird ruffling her feathers before flight. I pull away from her mouth and place a kiss on her neck, running my tongue across her collarbone and nipping at her shoulder.
Pushing her short tank top up, I pull her bra down, freeing her breast. It fills my palm, small and pert. Another moan breaks free from her throat as I run a callused thumb across her nipple. I do it again. Once. Twice. Then I replace my thumb with my mouth. She arches into me, pressing her breast into my mouth. Her hand fists in the hair at the back of my head and pulls, demanding my mouth to take more.
Her breasts were made to be worshiped.
I am their devout acolyte.
If she were to pull back right now and demand we stop, I could die a happy man knowing I’d given the two perfect globes every ounce of my attention. I suck and lap at them, stroking first one and then the other with my tongue, my teeth.
She pants for air. Moans with desire. And she doesn’t ask me to stop.
Her skirt slides down her skin with a gentle pull, her panties following shortly behind. And then she’s standing before me, eyes bright with that fire that had been in them earlier. Not smoldering. Burning.
Her cheeks are flushed the color of summer roses.
I stare at her, taking her in, soaking this image up and storing it away so that days, weeks, months from now, I can pull it out and recall every minute detail.
I can’t keep my hands off her. Like magnets, they’re drawn to the soft flesh of her body. She gazes down, watching as my fingers dance across her stomach and sink lower, savoring the feel of her beneath them.
I run my fingers over the dark curls on her pelvis. Lower still. Her breath hitches when I pass so, so gently over her clit.
