by Amber Burns
Her chest is rising rapidly, her breaths coming shallow, and before I’ve even started anything. Why is it that Vanna’s body knows what it wants, but her head stops her from seizing it with abandon?
She tries to step away and only to prompt me to push her back, keep her head to my chest by her crown. Her dark waves are soft, and the fruity shampoo she uses wafts up teasingly, demanding I bury my nose into the source.
I do.
“Amos…” My name is a shuddered breath. A stronger gust of cold wind sways breezes to us. I wrap my arms around her, keeping her warm, greedily stealing her attention from everything but me.
“I missed you.”
“You keep saying that,” she whispers back. I hear that curious note lilting her reply. She can’t believe I like her.
Or is it that you don’t want to believe, Vanna baby?
“Do you want me to stop saying it?”
Her headshake is immediate. Short, but immediate.
“Still, I’ll stop if you kiss me. Can’t say much if my mouth is busy, can I?” I really don’t expect her to do anything.
Her lips spring up, closing the distance and barely on tiptoes. She wobbles and breaks her concentration on the touch of a kiss, her yelping cutting off on an ‘umph’ when her mouth bangs my chin.
I help her regain her balance by her arms before checking her out.
“You’re not bleeding.” I’m leaning down, face pushed inches from hers, my thumb brushes her lower lip, twice, the second time dragging it out and bringing her lids fluttering close together.
“Want that kiss?”
In answer she’s pushing out her mouth.
I start intense. Our lips mushed together, her moan vibrating through my mouth on an undeterred course to my confined erection.
I’m going through my underwear quickly. Mams and Pap will probably start wondering why they’re electricity bill is high coincidently for the month their grandson crashed over.
I’ll forward the bill to Vanna if she doesn’t let me fuck her and later whisk her to an altar for our nuptials.
She holds onto my forearms for support. Dragging me into our connection, deepening the kiss and clearly thrilling in it.
Undercover lover, Vanna, you.
She’s taking this kiss seriously. I have to remind myself of my burning lungs.
“You’ve got tattoos! Lots of them,” her awe widens her eyes and the laugh is bubbling out. She stares at me, perhaps deciding which shocks her more, the ink or the laughter.
“I’ve got more. Happy to show you if you want.” I’m grinning through my comment. It slips when Vanna nibbles her lower lip, her fingers stopping their sensual progression up my arm.
“Can I?”
Shy of jumping of and yanking off my shirt, just to be naked in front of her, I rein in the natural desire and plot. “Sure,” I’m drawling. “How about for every article of mine, you take off something of yours? Sorta like a dirty Simon Says.”
And because she’s trembling with embarrassment, I lean in and kiss her soundly, the smack cocooning us in our intimacy. “Okay, you got me. Very dirty Simon Says. Let’s call it Amos Say. I’ll start.”
I cross my arms on my way to grabbing the hem of my shirt. I pull up, slowly, watching her until the shirt over my head cuts off our staring match. Shirt forgotten on the floor, I run both hands over my shaved head, watching her watching my body, tracing out the outline of the ashy wings over my pecs, the ‘Gods of War’ skulls design over my abs, following the line of hair I’m stroking to the top of my low-riding jeans.
“Amos Says, ‘shirt off’.”
I’m in the middle of wondering whether I pushed her too far. Vanna’s slow; her timid nature rearing its ugly and unwanted head, and man don’t I want to crush it, yet the sweater is coming up.
Patience, Fuller.
I hear my version of a drill sergeant in my head. Snagging my fingers around the belt loops of my jeans, I watch her struggle to separate the undershirt from sweater for a moment and then, blissfully, she’s sitting only in a simple, but figure-hugging light gray tee. The faded logo is advertising a family restaurant I’ve never heard of.
I’d ponder on it, but I’m raring to start the next leg of our latest game.
“Amos Says,” I brush my fly and grin at her leaning forward, swaying in place. My fingers dance from my bulging crotch and I stoop to unlace and tug off one boot, then the other. “Amos Says, ‘Boots off’.”
Vanna unzips from the sides, balancing on one foot for each boot, setting the worn brown leather footwear aside when she’s through.
I chuckle at her socks. She wriggles her colorful toes and her soft giggle brings my blood to a steady simmer.
Not shockingly I’m hard for her. I want this girl. I want Vanna so fucking badly; I’m starting to lose interest in our game. But she’s reacting for once, and I don’t want to imagine losing her to that head of hers.
It’s all about feeling. Thinking has no play in this game, like in most of the games I hope for us.
“Amos Says, ‘lose the shirt.’
Vanna shakes her head, wrapping a soft, fruity – I should know, I sniffed her – strand round and round one finger. “I can’t. You’re not taking off your shirt.”
She’s got me. This is what I hate about games: Rules cutting off a guy’s dick.
Then again, when did I follow rules – outside the Marines, and that’s because there’s no room for ego, “What if Amos Says, ‘lose the fucking shirt or he’ll rip it off’’?”
Vanna’s inhale is sharp. Her lids flutter, dark lashes brushing together as she lowers her hands to the bottom of her tee and lifts it.
I’m too busy gawping at the expanse of paler, soft flesh of her belly to notice she’s hesitating, completely frozen, shirt half-on, caught up in whatever’s started going in her head.
“Amos Says, ‘keep going, baby, show me more of that fucking beauty you are’.”
Twin splotches over her cheeks, coloring her neck in a familiar pattern, Vanna fits her head through the hole of the tee, and with the material bundled in her hands in front of her, shakes out her dark, wavy mane before moving her arms down.
It’s the first time I’ve been this naked with her.
We’ve catapulted into our fantasies before, twice in that day actually. But when I started this adventure, this plan I should name ‘Making Vanna Mine’, I knew I was a horny motherfucker running on short time.
With her wedding next month, Iris’ bridal shopping brought me back home. Once I finished fittings for the tux, enjoyed one of the last family get-togethers with my kid sister unmarried, I was planning to head home
Vanna’s chest is raising and falling with her short breaths. She’s excited. I can empathize.
A black bra slices the pale soft flesh exposed to my hungry gaze. I imagine her pebbling nipples indenting the cups of her bra. Curious if my command to have her take off the damned feminine article will work as well as the t-shirt, I try.
“Amos Says, ‘the bra’s gotta go, too’.”
Vanna cups her breasts, pushing those delicious globes up and forcing more sexy, cock-numbing spillage to the tops.
I take her headshake and leave the subject for now.
The bra is going to go eventually. I’ll let her cling to it for a bit longer. My sights are set on something else anyways.
“Amos Says, ‘drop the pants’.”
“The door.” Vanna’s protest barely has me suppressing a groan. She’s right though. I picture Violet or Wes – worse, both two-thirds of the Sterling bunch walking in on our fun extracurricular choice.
“Locking... Locked.” I stride to the door, latch the sticky, finicky lock, and narrowly miss toppling over a smaller box in my path on my hurry to pick up where we left off.
“Pants,” I growl, dropping the ‘Amos Says’.
“Isn’t Amos supposed to?” She’s ventured into third-person territory with me. Why the fuck is grammar suddenly so hot?
> “Fine.” Less angry, more annoyed, I do as she orders, and it’s glaringly obvious who’s been controlling the game all along. I kick out of my jeans, shucking them to the side with a foot. “There. Off. Your turn.”
She doesn’t have a leg to stand on now: The door’s closed, my pants are gone and I’m facing her with the rage-on I know she can see now, outlined so clearly in my black boxers.
“Your. Turn.” The words are clenched out. My hand naturally drops to my cock. The ache is too much. I stroke my length through the cotton.
Vanna’s wringing her shirt in front of her.
That’s it, babe. You know you want it, and we know it’s all yours.
She drops the tee. Her struggle is real with the fly. My laugh is breathy, labored from provoking my stiff dick. My hand is pressing hard, my lazy strokes are of the past; I need the relief of jerking off – better yet, of dipping into her wetness, moving up inside her and finding bliss in Vanna.
She has the fly down. Her hips wriggling to assist in dropping the jeans down over her wide hips, fleshy thighs and the fat ass I fell in love with from the beginning.
“Vanna.” Her name is a grunt, a cue for her to look at me now she’s pants-free. “Shit. Do you know what you’re doing to me? Look.” I jerk my length, forcing my hand to slow its movement from tip to balls, balls back to soaked tip. I feel the pre-cum soaking my thigh.
She hugs her torso, her arms plumping her breasts, displaying them along with her matching black panties. Other than the bright-red tiny bow-tie in the center, her underwear is as plain as the rest of her outerwear.
But it’s covering all those good bits and, fuck me, if I’m not about to blow myself with that revelation.
We both figure what’s coming next.
I forget all about the bra. I zero in on what’s below the bow-tie, covered by the black triangle of cotton, and framed by her hairless thighs.
Wonder if she’s clean? Or if I’ll be dragging my tongue along the airstrip to her clit, and why I care either way as long as my face, fingers and dick take turns fucking her, bathing in her juices.
Moving my hand off my cock, I latch my thumbs under the elastic and roll down my underwear. I’m not slow or gentle; it’s a quick tug and I’m free.
Free for her to ogle my goods. I drag my legs through the boxers, dropping them in the pile of clothes building up beside my feet. I notice then that we’ve got our socks on. I don’t bother, not with my hand busy wrapping around my length.
I stroke, eyes on Vanna, feeling the pre-cum oozing out when I massage my tingling head.
“Vanna, I want to see you naked.”
“Amos Says?”
My snarl gives her a very visible shiver. Her breathing is ragged, filling the distance between us – the distance I’ll be closing sooner if she doesn’t show me want I want to see.
“Amos fucking wants you naked.”
She squeaks. Her fingers are settling over her underwear, though, and she’s pulling down, over her nearly bare cooch, her round thighs, and smaller calves. Her hair obscuring the alluring view and when she takes too long drawing the panties off, I’m in front of her, lifting her up by the arms, slamming my mouth down over her question.
Vanna moans at my roaming hands.
The signal to the end of the game is my sneaky fingers and the clasp of her bra. It snaps free at the back and the material slacks on her body. Vanna is helping me pull it off her though, meaning she’s passed the playful stage, her need to strong, too impatient to last one more round of Amos Says.
I have to part our mouths so I can get a fill of her tits. I thumb the hard nipples, pinching and lightly pulling to listen to more of her pleasurable mewls. My mouth is the natural progression.
I gently clamp my teeth around one nipple, massaging her other creamy globe, and then switching, tag-teaming her. Cupping one butt cheek, my other hand keeps her near. I have no plans on letting her get away, knowing she desires me as much as I do her.
“Amos,” her hands move from gripping my shoulders to latching onto my head, pulling me flush to her chest, her areola joining her nipple in slipping into my mouth. I suck as much as I can, my tongue flicking across her nipple, and I’m fully aware of my saliva trailing out of the sides of my mouth, smearing her breast.
I come up for air between her breasts. I’d almost forgotten I’m leaning. My legs are shaking from the strain. I move up and she takes the signal to sliding her hands down to my shoulders and over my pecs, nails lightly dragging me and my ink.
“What are the wings for?”
“To remember to soar over the crap,” I cup her hands, stilling their curious search. I can’t concentrate with her stroking me, my dick weeping between us, but I’d like the contact to remain to some extent nevertheless. “I got it just after I transitioned to civvy life.”
“And the skull?”
“That was a bit earlier. I’d come back from a tour in the desert. The mission didn’t pan out and we lost a couple good men to a rogue mine and overturned Humvee.”
The shudder is involuntary. My gaze drifts to the window, jaw clenched, afraid my fear and anger at the faraway memory dampens Vanna’s mood. I no longer want this – I need her to wrap her arms and body around me, take me from the time of uncertainty to something real.
A small part of me whines, and what after? What if Vanna decides she doesn’t want you past a good fuck or two?
Her mouth calls me to the present. She’s reaching up, balance swaying, and her mouth pressing against mine in a skewered position. She’s mostly touching my lower lip.
I help her by moving down. The kiss begins chaste, but the passion sweeps us in and I’m very aware my cock’s yielding against her belly once she’s back on the balls of her heels.
Some of my pre-cum transferred to her stomach.
I’m admiring the glistening flesh when I note the shiver bringing her arms about her middle, the goose flesh dotting her arms and tightening her dark pink nipples and puckering her areola.
The window.
I’d completely forgotten about the window. I release her for a moment, stepping out of her waiting arms with a quick kiss, and narrowly lobbing my fingers off when the window unsticks and comes down hard.
Somewhere in the back recesses of my mind I leave a memo to let Violet know about calling someone to check out that deathtrap of a window.
Back to Vanna I wrap her in my arms hoping to warm her quicker.
“Sorry about that. Almost gave you a cold,” I kiss her crown, mumbling, “Do you feel better?”
She hums her approval.
I hold us there long enough to ensure she’s not quaking like an autumn leaf clinging desperately to its mothering branch. Prying us apart slowly, I keep her back by her upper arms, eyes traveling over her length, gaze settling over the mess over her stomach.
She’s slick with my pre-ejaculate, and she’s never looked yummier.
“Are you on the pill?”
Vanna bobs her head, mumbling something about painful feminine monthly visits, speeding ahead to opening her arms. I don’t stop her.
Well, I do. We aren’t going to fuck standing up. No kinky positions for us yet. We’re too far gone for that anyways.
Next time, I promise.
That bit of importance out of the way –
“Let’s sit.” I grab my shirt and jeans and prepare a makeshift blanket. We’re going easy and simple for the first time.
Taking a seat in the center of my clothes, I smack my thighs for her to bring that sexy, fat ass of hers over my lap.
Vanna lowers slowly, and with my help settles her legs around me, her bottom in the space of my legs. We’re surrounding each other, our sexes facing, my mouth meeting hers again.
I pluck her nipples, remembering to bring one hand to her back to control her natural arching reaction to my caresses.
“Closer,” I groan straight out of the kiss, my hands joining each other over her ass and gripping onto her plump cheeks, l
ifting her to have her cunt kissing the space between my navel and cock.
My dick is now resting under and around to the bottom crack of her ass.
“Ahh…uhh…”
Vanna’s body responds naturally to the pressure of her pussy to the hard surface of my body. She rubs her clit and labia all over me, masturbating on me.
It’s insanely hot.
Also not what I want her to do at all – I need to be the one that makes her cum, while I’m inside her preferably, or my tongue and fingers catching the aftermath of her release.
