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It hit him like a blow to the chest, as he positioned himself, jeans half-down. He breached her tight opening and started pushing inside her. How sensual she was, how generous. The look in her eyes. She clutched his upper arms as he forged his way deep inside. When he started to thrust, she made husky, surprised sounds with each slow, deliberate stroke.
They found their rhythm together, him listening, her gripping his ass and wiggling, and settled into a deep, wonderful plunge-twist, swivel-glide that made her gasp with pleasure, lifting herself to him.
Oh, God. So good. He’d lived without anything so good for so long, he’d forgotten feelings like this existed, or else he’d put the memory aside, persuaded himself that they were a luxury. Something you could do without and probably should, like sugar or booze.
But no. This feeling wasn’t like that at all. It was more like water, oxygen. A flat-out necessity. You went without it for a while, and you choked, and then you croaked, and you blew away like a dried leaf.
He’d been drying up and dying inside for years. And hadn’t known it. Hey, dying felt so damn normal after a while.
The pace quickened without him noticing, because Becca was grinding herself against him, gasping and whimpering as she worked up to one of her awesome, call-the-cops orgasms. He concentrated on bringing her off, massaging her clit with his thumb as he stirred her around with his cock, finding where those sweet spots hid, and ah…there she went. Arching and jerking, her strong cunt muscles squeezing his cock, milking, begging him to join her. Fill her.
Not yet. Not fucking yet. No way. He wanted this to last forever.
As soon as she had more or less settled down, panting and gleaming with sweat, he resumed thrusting. It went easier now, slicker and smoother. A deep plunge in, a tight, aching slide out. First the quivering resistance of her plushy pussy on the driving instroke, and her jealous hug-and-grab on the outstroke. Outrageous.
Thank God for the latex. It kept him honest, or he’d have lost it in an instant. It damped the sensations down just enough for self-control. He managed to bring her off a couple more times, but every time she came, it got hotter, harder, wilder. Just a small part of his brain watched from a distance as he went at her, moving her, spreading her. Pumping and ramming against her. The slap of his balls against her wet, slick ass, the sawing of breath, those pleading moans, his, hers, hoarse and dry and desperate. The thundering rumble in his head, of a gathering orgasm that drove him along before it like an oncoming storm.
Sobs, shouts, as something inside him shattered and gave way.
Layer after layer in his mind was smashed through like a wrecking ball, crashing through brick and mortar and concrete, dust and rubble. Each rhythmic explosive charge knocked him deeper into nowhere.
When he came round, he was horrified to find that they were on the floor. Holy fuck, how did that happen? The coffee table was overturned, books scattered everywhere, her glasses on the rug, the phone beeping, knocked out of its charger. Becca lay beneath him, gasping for breath beneath his weight. Arms clutching his neck. One leg wrapped around his waist, the other twined around his ankle.
He started to lift himself off, his muscles weak and trembling with the aftermath, and felt her pussy clench around him, echoing the cling of his arms. Unwilling to let him go. It was nice. He liked it.
Which was weird, for him. That kind of move from a woman after sex usually made him feel suffocated.
He had no idea what he’d done in those last few moments during that…was it a blackout, for Christ’s sake? He was almost twice her size. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her. That she didn’t hate his guts.
“Sorry,” he whispered, studying her face.
She smiled, with her eyes closed. “You’re weird, Nick.”
“I know,” he said, in heartfelt agreement. “You OK?”
She stretched luxuriously beneath his weight. “First, you make me come like never before, and you thank me. Then, you make me come again and again and again…and what do you do? You apologize.”
“I lost control,” he growled. “I could have hurt you.”
“News flash,” she said. “You didn’t. And I doubt that you even could.” Her eyes opened, suddenly somber. “Not during sex, anyway.”
He slowly withdrew himself from her clinging sheath, but she twined both arms around his neck and squeezed. “Nick? I have to tell you something.”
He braced himself, gut clenched against the ache of nameless fear in his gut. “Yeah? What?”
“If you do your standard post-sex routine and get all mean and grumpy and sour, and run out on me, you aren’t ever going to have to worry about Vadim Zhoglo again.”
He started to grin, warily. “I won’t?”
“No, you won’t,” she said. “Because I’ll kill you myself.”
He almost collapsed right on top of her as the shudder of laughter cut him off right at the elbows. He got to his feet, with some difficulty, peeled off the extremely full condom. Then he pried off his shoes, and shoved down his jeans, stepping out of them. “I’m not running off,” he assured her. “See? I can’t. I’m naked. Just ditching the latex. OK?”
“Hurry back. I mean it.” Her voice was steely.
He did, still shaking with silent hysteria. But when he came back into the room and stared down at her gorgeous body lying on the ground, his laughter suddenly faded away. It bothered him, to see her lying naked on the floor. She looked too helpless there. Too vulnerable.
He’d rather see her naked bouncing through a field of flowers, or naked in a bathtub, or naked in a forest cascade. Better yet, naked tucked snugly into a soft bed. And him on top of her.
