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“No,” I answer, laughing. “Though that’s a common one. I guess I meant more that you’re a very thorough lover. I don’t think there’s a spot on my body that you didn’t kiss, touch, fill. It was... unexpected. Like a whole girlfriend experience.”
“Girlfriend?” he echoes vacantly.
I meant it to be a compliment, but given the horror stricken look on his face, he definitely didn’t take it as one. “Don’t freak out on me, Chance. I’m not moving into your house or changing my relationship status to hearts and flowers around your name. I’m simply wondering if that’s your style... your thing. Or do you sometimes explore, experiment, and try new things? Because that was a newer thing for me.” I trail off, making it obvious that I’m baby stepping toward something.
He looks at me carefully for a solid minute before responding. “I don’t want a butt plug.”
I snort-laugh at the one line he’s drawing because that should be the least of his worries with what’s in my goodie bag. “Okay, but how about for round two we try something that’ll make your inner boy scout blush? No pressure, no judgment, just fuck me rough, hard, and dirty. I bet you don’t get the chance to do that very often, or ever, but I think I can handle you at your filthiest.”
“Round two?”
I nod. “Yeah, unless you need more time to recover.” I cuddle into his chest to give him a few minutes, but he’s got other plans in mind.
“Get on your knees,” he orders.
My whole body jerks, perking up in interest at the change in his tone. I move, sinking to the floor beside the chaise with my ass resting on my heels and looking at him expectantly, fire already relighting inside me.
He sits up on the chaise, one leg on either side of me. His eyes search mine, and I watch as he takes a rough swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. I can tell this is already a different vibe for him, but he’s interested for sure. “I want you to promise you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”
I can’t help but smile at the seriousness with which he’s taking this. It’s sexy that he wants to be bossy but wants to respect me too. A perfect balance...ifhe’s actually filthy.
“I promise, and I’ll also tell you if I can take more.”
His lips quirk, but he dips his head, accepting my vow. He leans back on the chaise, one leg stretched out long and the other foot on the floor, spreading his legs wide. I drink him in with my eyes—tanned skin with a dusting of blond hair over his strong, lean muscles, his cock already thick and leaking, and his blue eyes full of fire.
“Suck me, Sam. Swallow me with that sassy mouth of yours.” He runs a thumb roughly over my bottom lip and grips himself, angling his cock toward my mouth. “And then I’ll fuck you rough, hard, and dirty,” he repeats, letting me know he heard exactly what I asked for.
Eagerly, I lean forward to lick a long line from his balls to the tip, savoring the salty fluid that’s already leaking. “Mmm,” I moan. “Hold my hair.”
I don’t wait for him to gather my curls in his fist. I dive right in, taking him in deep in one move. When his fingers tighten in my hair in response, I get a little thrill. Control is a sexy thing. He thinks he’s controlling me by telling me what to do and guiding my head, but the truth is, I’ve got all the power, literally in command of the pleasure I give or don’t give.
I take him into my mouth over and over, drool coating him and running down my chin, but I can feel him holding back. Tension is threaded through his muscles, and when I glance up his body, I can see the outline of his six-pack. Gasping for breath, I pant, “Fuck my mouth. I want you to. You want to. I can see it, feel it. Do it. Fuck. My. Mouth.”
“God damn it,” he growls right before he unleashes the punishing restraint he had on himself.
He slams into my throat, shuddering as he holds himself there for a split second before repeating the move. He finds a fast, deep, rough pace that brings the prick of tears to my eyes, and I fight to keep suction around his thickness. I love it and moan around him to tell him so.
I feel him grow even harder in my mouth, and with a roar, he jerks me off him. “No, not till I get back in that cunt.”
Holy. Hell. The Boy Scout is a raging naughty boy in disguise. He might be my dream come true—sweet and filthy.
He grabs at my bag, digging for another condom himself this time. “Get up there,” he directs, pointing at the chaise with a lift of his chin.
I don’t have any smart words this time. I do as I’m told, as quickly as I can, lying back on the chaise with my legs open wide. I slide my fingers over my clit, spreading my slickness over my entire pussy. I’m on the edge already, just from how sexy sucking him off was.
Sheathed, he approaches the foot of the chaise, his eyes pinned to what my hand is doing. “See anything you want?” I offer.
In response, he grabs behind my knees and jerks me down the chaise so far that my ass is hanging off, but he holds me tight, not letting me drop an inch. He guides my legs up onto his shoulders, which puts me in a slightly upside-down position with my weight resting on my upper back, but it gets my pussy at just the right level for his cock to slide into me easily. A cry of ecstasy escapes as Chance grips my ass, his fingertips digging sharply into the tender flesh to hold me in place securely.
He slams into me, pounding deep as he pulls me onto him, fucking me while making me fuck him back. “Touch yourself again.”
I know I’m a sloppy, wet mess already, but I reach two fingers toward his mouth. He dips down, sucking them to coat them with his spit, and I use his saliva to rub over my clit. Long swipes quickly become blurringly fast, short strokes, and the combination of Chance fucking me and the focus on my clit is too much, putting me on edge in an instant. “More,” I beg, not even sure what I want more of. All of it? Him?
Chance licks his lips, and I pause, letting him drip more spit onto my clit, greedily using it for my pleasure. He growls, his eyes watching my movements hungrily as his hips piston fast and hard. “Come, Sam. I want to feel this pretty pussy come on me.”
I fly apart, shattering into a million pieces and gushing fluids over our connection. Somewhere in the blackness of my own ecstasy, I feel Chance jerking as he explodes inside me. “Fuck,” he grunts.
Once the sparkles leave my vision, I look up at Chance as he helps me lower my legs. I must look wild—panting, sweaty, and smiling crazily—because he asks, “You okay?” Even when he’s rough, he’s caring.
