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I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Do I have to?”
“Hey, this is a compilation video set to real music, classic rock, not that old shit.”
I drilled my fingers into his ribs and he yelped. “Don’t disrespect Tchaikovsky.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and shoved his phone into my hands. “Now watch me kick a little ass.”
* * *
Early Monday Morning
This was new for me.I don’t know that I’d ever had sex like this before. It was like riding on top of a tiger. All sleek muscle and bone. So flipping strong.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me, work my dick as hard as you like.”
I was straddling Dillon and doing exactly that. Filled with his massive cock, I was riding him to a rhythm that suited me. Not him, not his pleasure, not his speed or pace. But mine. I twisted my hips, found another angle and groaned. It all felt so good.
He was playing with my nipples. Pulling and twisting them in a way that at first felt too aggressive in his strong heavy fingers, but now I craved it as hard and as much as the rest of him.
He grabbed my hips and held me still. Our breaths panting together.
“What…what are you doing?” I stammered, trying to grind against him but his hold was too firm. I was powerless.
“Trying…not to come,” he said, teeth gritted.
How was a girl supposed to just live her life knowing she could make Dillon Le Coeur struggle not to come? Like, where was my crown? My parade?
I was a sex goddess and I needed him to worship me.
“Some sex toy you are,” I said, and squeezed the muscles of my pussy around him.
“Jesus, Liv.”
We were on the floor next to the bed. After sleeping on the clean sheets last night, we’d logically agreed on shower sex this morning. But shower sex had turned into me dropping to my knees to give him head. No easy thing considering his girth, but so worth the fun of feeling him lose control. His hands in my hair, my name ripped from his chest like I was killing him.
We’d stumbled out of the shower together. He tripped on his duffle bag and fell by the side of the bed, I grabbed a condom and quickly took advantage of the fact that he was on his back.
One touch of my hand as I slipped the condom over him and he was back in the game. Dillon’s recovery time had to be a record.
“You wet enough to take me?” he’d whispered. I nodded.
“Show me,” he groaned, and I slid over him, his dick between the lips of my pussy, the head of his cock hitting my clit. I was wet and I was already on edge. This was the very last time we’d touch each other like this.
“You got this wet sucking my cock?” he groaned, and all I could do was whimper. I reached between us, adjusting him so the next time I slid back, he slid home.
This time I was in control. This time I would get myself off instead of letting him take over. Maybe because I needed to prove to myself I could do this again. I could bring myself to orgasm with or without Dillon.
Why would you ever want to do this without him?
I squashed that thought as quickly as I had it. This was our last time. The last hour we had together. I would pack up my car and head back to Portland and my apartment. He would head back to his place and we would both arrive at the practice facility a few hours from now as professionals.
This weekend would be over. Like it never happened.
Only it had. It so had. The proof was in me. In my body and my heart. My head.
“Get there, babe. You’re killing me,” he growled.
I had both palms planted on his chest while I worked my hips on him like he was a stripper pole. I put my hand over his full lips.
