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I’m not sure who moves first, her or me, but my lips claim hers with a fierceness I’ve never felt before. Like a man possessed, I plunder her sweet mouth, my tongue diving inside, taking everything I want and need. And she’s right there, matching me stroke for stroke, giving as good as she gets, stealing my sanity with her wicked tongue.
“Fuck,” I groan as her mouth drops to my neck, sucking hard and nipping at my coarse skin.
“Yes, please,” she replies sweetly, reaching around and grabbing my ass. “Now.”
“Now?” I gasp, trying to grasp onto any ounce of self-control I can find.
“Yes, now.” Then she runs her hand around and grabs my cock, stroking it through my trousers.
It’s like someone flips a switch or lights a match. The room ignites. My hands are everywhere, pulling her top up and over her head, so very grateful she’s forgone a bra again today. I pinch her nipples, loving how they’re these perfect little hard nubs, ripe for sucking. So I do. My mouth is on them so fast, she barely has time to move her own hands out of the way. But the moment I’m in position, lapping and sucking at her breasts, her skillful hands return to my throbbing erection.
It’s not enough. I need more. I need to claim.
I spin her around, holding her against my chest so she doesn’t lose her balance and fall. The moment she’s situated, I apply slight pressure to her back, pressing her forward. She bends willingly, her hands braced on the back of the couch. Freedom glances over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine with fire and demanding for more.
I’m more than willing to oblige.
I bend down and grab the hem of her long skirt. I don’t know what it is about these, but they make my cock so fucking hard, I can barely think straight. Believe it or not, they’ve always had that effect on me, even way back when we were younger. I think she was nineteen the first time I really noticed her in one of these fucking skirts. Sure I had known her for years, but it was truly the first time I saw her as a beautiful woman. I was home from college and swore I was hard for two days straight. Every time I stroked off, it only seemed to make my problem that much worse, the fantasies that much more vivid.
And here I am, finally living out one of those fantasies.
“Keep your hands on the couch, Freedom,” I direct as I bring the skirt up to her waist, slowly exposing long, smooth legs. She’s wearing a yellow thong with little suns on it and tiny words that say ‘Have a great day.’
Oh, I’m most certainly about to have the best fucking day.
Keeping the skirt piled up on her back, I carefully remove the panties. I can feel the dampness between her legs and my cock jumps in my pants, a painful reminder of what he wants. When they’re discarded, I slowly stand back up, running my hands up the insides of her legs. When I reach the apex, I’m rewarded with smooth, wet skin. “Are you ready for me?” I whisper, bending over to whisper in her ear as I slide my thumb between her wetness.
“Damn, Sammy,” she gasps, rocking against my hand. “So fucking ready.”
With one hand still on her pussy, I rip my shirt from my waist. I’m going to need both hands to undress, which doesn’t bode well for me right now. But it’s necessary if I want to take this further than just fingering her ready body. “Stay right where you are, Freedom. Don’t move.”
With the quickness of a ninja, I rip off my belt and unfasten my pants. She’s watching me over her shoulder again, her eyes devouring my movements, her breath catching in her throat with each article of clothing I lose. I get my shirt unbuttoned, but decide to leave it on. Her long fingers reach back, her nails digging into my chest as she caresses the hard plains of my abs. I tug my pants down, my underwear with them, and kick both out of the way. My cock is hard and throbbing, angling directly to where it wants to go.
“Shit,” I mumble, realizing my mistake.
Freedom turns just enough to see my cock and reaches out for it, slowly stroking it in her hand. “What’s the matter?”
I moan in pleasure as her soft hand wraps firmly around my length. “I don’t… I don’t have any protection with me.”
“We don’t need it,” she says as she gives me another long, luxurious stroke that makes my eyes cross.
“We do,” I ground out as my hips automatically buck into her hand.
“I’m on the pill.” Her eyes meet mine. “Plus, you’re the only one I’ve been with in a long time.” There’s something so pure, so trusting in those brown eyes, and I feel it square in the chest.
But even though I hear her words, I’m not sure we should take the risk. “I’m not sure, Freedom,” I tell her, my duty to protect myself and the one I’m with battling with my desire to take her without the barrier of a condom.
“Please.” Her eyes plead, so open and full of faith. “I trust you.”
“I…” Clearing my throat, I try to find the right words. “I’ve always used protection, Freedom. And I’ve been tested after…everyone. I’m clean,” I tell her, leaving out the part that my last test, after my last girlfriend, was just over two years ago.
“Please.” She punctuates the word by pressing her ass back against me and wiggling. My cock easily slips through the wetness between her legs.
“Are you sure?” My voice is tight, my body ready, but I don’t move. Not yet.
“So fucking sure,” she begs, reaching behind her and taking me in her hand once more. She strokes me as she pulls me toward her, positioning my cock where she wants it most.
I position my hands at her hips, much more mindful of the fading bruises there from earlier in the week, and finally succumb to the desire. To the need. The fight just leaves my body. A hot, lava burn replaces it, coursing through my veins and landing in my cock with the force of a thousand cannonballs. I gently push forward, her soft hand guiding the way, and when I’m fully seated in one stroke, I know I’ll never be the same.
I’m hers.
