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I frequently glance up from his cock to look into his eyes. Hobo’s propped himself up on his elbows to watch me. He seems wary, maybe fascinated, mostly amused.
I take the length of him in my mouth, sucking his hard flesh. My fingers caress his balls, sliding beneath the weight of them, teasing the tender underbelly.
Hobo exhales a pained moan. My gaze finds his, searching for what I’m doing wrong. All of his walls are down. He isn’t in pain. The man’s afraid. I’ve ripped away his armor, leaving him vulnerable. He hates knowing I own the power to break him. Hobo’s trust in others is always a fleeting gift.
Popping his dick free of my mouth, I stroke the length of his flesh with both hands. My tongue circles the head. My gaze remains locked on his.
Hobo knows me. I’m the woman with the failed shop who fears peeing outdoors and made him cherry pies for lunch. I am not a threat. Hurting him will break my heart.
Hobo startles me by sitting up suddenly. No man should be so reckless when his cock is in the hands of another person. However, Hobo demands my lips on his. He tugs me up and onto his lap.
“If I run,” he says in a gruff, almost angry voice, “you’ll track me down. If you can’t find me, you’ll wait.”
“Yes,” I say and stroke his cheeks. “Nothing in my life has ever felt as real as you do. I’m not giving you up.”
My words are the truth. We’ve passed the point where I can walk away.
Hissing with pleasure and pain as my body adjusts to his cock filling me again, I wrap my arms around Hobo’s neck. I’m trapped in his embrace now as I grind down against him. Our bodies refuse simple pleasure. We demand more.
There’s something desperate between Hobo and me. A need that might not be able to survive long term. Yet, right now, in this place, we find peace.
TOMMY
Xenia glues herselfto me as soon as we’re spent. I try to squirm away, just to breathe on my own and feel like myself. She won’t tolerate even an inch of daylight between our bodies.
I consider forcing the matter. Can I demand to sit alone for a while to think? No, probably not without hurting Xenia’s feelings.
Why am I not capable of settling down and enjoying her sweaty body against mine? Does everything need to be a fucking battle within me?
My fingers slide across her forehead before drifting through her soft hair. Her relaxed gray eyes watch me.
I haven’t fucked anyone in so long that I feel out of sorts more than usual. My gaze washes over her body, wondering if I hurt her. I should have been smoother.
Tomcat’s an asshole, but he knows how to finesse a woman’s body. Everyone knows that fact because he’ll fuck chicks right in the open during Friday parties. The man has no shame, and we’re not prudes.
Those women aren’t special, yet he makes them feel that way.
