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He gently pushed me to the wall, sliding his hand between my thighs. A single finger parted my folds, lightly tracing my pussy and lingering on the sensitive flesh.
“Tell me.”
“Country.”
“Heather.”
“Spook,” I gasped as he inserted that finger, gliding in and out of me as my knees almost buckled. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Tell me, my sweet raven.”
His raven. Why did I like those words so much?
“I will,” I promised. “Not in here. After we both come.”
He nodded, withdrawing his finger and lining up his cock. “You ready?”
“Yes.” The fact that he paused to ask for consent when his erection bobbed in the air between us meant everything to me.
He entered me with a swift thrust, wrapping my legs around his waist as he found an angle that nearly made me fall apart in less than two minutes. His hands grabbed my ass and moved me up and down on his cock, the muscles of his arms bulging with every stroke.
“Fuck. S-so good, babe.” He panted, driving into me harder. “So fucking good.”
“Yes,” I agreed, reaching one hand between us to swirl over my clit. I felt that familiar sensation begin to build, hoping the upcoming release would be a big one.
I didn’t need to worry.
My eyes shut tight when my pussy clenched hard, spasming as I rode his dick, practically impaling my pussy on his rigid shaft, eager to fill that aching hole deep in my soul that only Country filled with such passion and enthusiasm.
It didn’t get much better than this, feeling him plunder my pussy for the treasure that awaited.
Country grunted, spilling into me as I took every brutal thrust, holding on as he filled me like he did last night. This boy could come like a porn star. It was impressive. Not just a couple of small spurts. No, he ejaculated a good seven or eight times, and they were deep thrusts that shook his toned body as he growled my name. I freaking loved it.
Country trembled, brushing hair out of my eyes. “I could get used to this.”
“Me too,” I whispered, actually meaning those words.
He pulled out as we both groaned. “Let’s clean you up.”
The shampoo was in his hand before I realized what he intended. This was the first time in my life anyone wanted to wash my hair other than my dad when I was a little girl. I had vague memories of my mother, but they were too fuzzy to count.
Country massaged my scalp as I moaned, leaning into his touch. A light laugh bubbled up from his chest. He soaped up my entire body and cleaned between my legs with a soft, unhurried touch. His gentleness brought tears that I quickly blinked back. Once rinsed clean, I returned the favor.
We dressed after the shower, sitting on my bed when we were both clean and dry. He faced me, still bare-chested. He’d thrown on his underwear and jeans but didn’t bother hiding his scars from me after we entered my room. I knew it took a lot for him to feel comfortable and not try to cover up. A measure of trust I wanted to reciprocate.
If my scars were on the outside, I wouldn’t expose any skin at all to the world. I didn’t have the guts Country did.
His hand rested over mine as he scooted closer. “Your nightmare?”
The prompt didn’t make me want to share more than I did in the shower.
“It’s a memory from my past.”
“And it haunts you,” he whispered knowingly. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
