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I’m panting and gasping, so full of desperate arousal, my thighs quaking. I slide my hands down into his hair and grip hard as I grind against his mouth.
He flicks his tongue over me, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks hard.
I’m so fucking close.
Let go Rose, he says.
But I don’t want to. Not yet. It’s torture to hold myself back when I’m such a hair-trigger with him.
I glance down at him and his eyes flash with stark determination. He sucks me harder and harder, his tongue swirling around and around until I might go insane.
You’re so goddamn wet for me. Look at you. You’re soaking my face, fucking drenching me. You love my tongue thrusting in your cunt, don’t you? Can’t get enough of it.
“Yes,” I moan, pinching my eyes shut as another wave of primal pleasure takes over.
He laps at me, quick and shallow, his tongue flicking over my clit.
I’m so fucking hard, swollen, and ready to burst.
“Yes,” I breathe. “More, please.”
God yes, yes.
Take it. Take it, Rose. Fuck, I could eat you for days and never get full.
He growls in his chest and his lips tighten around my clit and he sucks hard.
I arch my back, my body flooding with pleasure as my orgasm slams into me.
It takes my breath away, strips me of all control, until I’m a gyrating mess.
I’m sobbing, gasping, all my muscles clenching hard.
I moan and grip his hair, hips bucking against his face as he sucks every last drop of my climax into his mouth and I fall against the headboard, gasping and shaking.
I writhe on his face for a moment and then lower myself, feeling his tongue slide out of my pussy.
Then his strong hands are wrapping around my waist and he’s lifting me up and he adjusts himself so he’s sitting up, his back against the headboard and he’s lowering me onto his lap.
Right onto his cock, which is hard and thick, pushing into me as he slowly presses me onto him.
“Oh fuck,” he moans, fingers digging into my waist until it hurts.
I slide down, watching his jaw clench and his eyes glaze over as he sinks deeper and deeper inside me and I’m completely straddling him.
“Fuck,” he says again, his hands on my hips, holding me still. His gaze is intense and burning as it locks me in place and I’m unable to look away, our noses brushing against each other, our breathing hard and shallow.
Then he’s lifting me up and lowering me again, thrusting his hips up into mine until he’s in so deep I can’t breathe, I can’t speak.
I can only gasp, my hands clutching the hard curve of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his biceps, holding tight as I begin to rock back and forth on him, our bodies finding that easy rhythm.
Effortless.
When we’re like this, it’s effortless. As if we were made to be together like this, as if this is all we were ever meant to do, as if this is how we were meant to live the rest of our lives, if only they weren’t always cut so short.
I glance down at him and his eyes are shut firmly, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared.
He’s not just holding on to me, the way he’s digging his fingers into my hips. This is his way of holding onto himself.
