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David looks back at me and that look of pleasure overtaking his gorgeous face sets me off, and I’m coming, hard. I shudder and tremble but I keep sucking David's cock until every last drop is poured down my throat.
I look into his eyes and suck him hard, licking him clean. Then I pull his cock out of my mouth and lean back on my elbows.
David dips down and brings his mouth to my trembling pussy, and the instant his tongue touches me, I’m set off like a fireworks show. His hand presses against my abdomen to increase the pressure, and therefore the pleasure. I’m quaking beneath him. His other hand cradles my head so I’m not flat against the floor, which is nice because I could get a boo-boo and that’s no good. I worked hard to be sex sore and walk funny, but no one needs to smack their head on a hard floor.
When I’m done coming, David kisses my pussy like he does my mouth, and then scoops me into his arms. We kiss deeply, tasting the sweaty, salty, spicy musk our cum, our lust our fucking…ourlove.
“Fuck, we need to get dressed,” I say when I break the kiss. I’m caught up in the smell of the moment, but I could turn right back into a pumpkin or something drastic that could ruin my fairy tale rightnow.
I get up from his lap and bring him his clothes, and then put on myown.
We both get dressed quietly, but when we are dressed and I’ve attempted to do something to my hair, David walks up to me. He kisses the top of my head like he does so often when he’s trying to keep mesafe.
“Christina,” David says, pressing his mouth against my arm and then holding that arm. He pulls me close. “We can never do this again,” he says, a tremor in his voice. He sounds like a man who is barely hangingon.
I understand. I’m shattered now, and not because of pain but from pure need. I crave David more than I even knew was possible. How could either of us stay away? I felt that same passion play out of me when he made love to me. He fucks hard, he fucks gentle, he fucks intensely, and I can feel he’s got every bit the passion that Ido.
I wake up, covered in sweat, more confused thanever.
I don’t respond to Mr. M’s text. I think that I want to text David…but I kind of feel like that sleep was less than restful and I wonder if I should risk trying to slumber again. The frustration makes me need a cosmopolitan, but I decide to let myself process my thoughts as best I can — sober — fornow.
