He adds a finger inside my pussy, curling up against that perfect spot, rubbing back and forth in a gentle thrust. “Now how do you feel? Is it ridiculous still?”
“Derek…god, please….”
“Please what?”
“More, Derek. More. Don’t stop.”
“Keep talking, gorgeous. Tell me exactly what you want.” He licks me, a fat wet swipe of his tongue up my opening, ending with his stiffened tongue dragging against my clit.
“Ooohhh-ohhhhh-fuckinggodyes…more. Do that again. Your mouth, right there. Please.” I might not be making any sense, but clearly Derek likes what he hears.
He growls in his throat and dives back in, repeating the move with his tongue. Again and again. And each time, the pulsations of explosive heat roll low through my core up to my belly, tightening my muscles and making my skin scream, and each time, they get stronger and hotter. His two fingers inside me drive relentlessly into me, a slow, rhythmic, thorough fucking of my insides, his fingertips sliding and pressing against that ridged area of so-tender, so-sensitive skin, and with each fuck of his fingers I go slightly mad, my hips rising and falling, driven to unbridled ecstasy by his tongue and his fingers.
I’m moaning nonstop now. Who am I? This is a new me. I’ve never been vocal. Not like this. Not loud enough to shock my own ears. Not these high-pitched whimpers that turn into mini-screams and quiet shrieks.
And, just when I’m on the verge, hovering on the trembling edge of detonation, he changes it all up. He shifts my body upward, his shoulders sliding between my thighs to throw them wide open, and his mouth travels up my belly, slick juices on his chin smearing against my diaphragm. I’m insane with need now, growling at him, squeezing him with my legs, thrashing beneath him, shoving at his head. But those motions immediately still as his mouth finds my nipple and sucks on it, teeth worrying at it, mouth flattening it, fingers of one hand pinching and twisting my other nipple, cupping my tit and kneading it, thrumming the nipple, strumming and scraping with his fingernail.
And his other hand…please fuck yes…yes, it goes between my legs. Middle, index and ring finger slide and slip against my saliva-slick folds, my own essence throbbing out of me, his fingers dipping into my channel and smearing the pungent juices of my desire and need over my trembling folds. He presses and circles. I moan. He releases the pressure, leaving a light touch, the pads of his fingertips barely touching my clit. They circle around the sensitive nub without actually touching it. And I scream.
Volcanic heat floods through me; my thighs shake and my gut tenses and my eyes clench shut and my toes curl. I rake my fingers down his back, and my hips are rising and falling, lifting and sinking, seeking his fingers in rhythm with his touch, which does not relent, doesn’t speed up or slow down. He just keeps the pressure, the pace, and it drives me wild as I come with a frantic detonation.
And then he’s down there again, between my thighs with his lips suckling my clit and his fingers driving into me, and holy shit I’m coming again, both of my hands on his head pulling him against me, driving into his mouth with my hips.
I’m fucking his face.
And he’s going wild over it. He’s moving his tongue against my clit in a feverish pace, driving my orgasm to heights I hadn’t thought possible, his fingers sliding into me slow and deep.
When the riot of ecstatic madness fades a bit and my shrieks have quieted and my hips have stilled, he takes to licking me slowly once more, his tongue sliding up the drenched opening of my pussy to flick gently against my clit. This is, in its own way, just as crazy-making as the fast and furious explosion. It sends shuddering aftershocks through me, potent waves of clenching heat that have me making a sound in low in the back of my throat that I can only describe as primal.
He’s made me come twice, come so hard I’m limp and gasping and close to tears of stunned, frenzied, pleasure. And he hasn’t even taken his shirt off.
Suddenly, I feel desperate for him. Hungry for him.
Fuck dignity or decorum. Fuck being ladylike. I want Derek, and he’s here with me, doing incredible things to me. I want him, and I’m going to have him, consequences be damned.
I wonder if he knows what he’s done to me?
CHAPTER 14
DEREK
I’m so hard in my jeans it hurts. It physically hurts. Reagan, goddamn…the woman is the most erotic being I’ve ever seen in my life. So responsive, so alluringly beautiful and unaware of it in a maddening kind of way. Maddening because she’s drop-dead gorgeous, hard-working, patient, kind, and generous. She’s not insecure, not self-conscious except about that one particular thing on her stomach. Those aren’t unattractive. They’re part of her. And she is, from head to toe, the sexiest girl ever, so fucking hot she’s a fantasy. She has a potty-mouth at times, which I find attractive. I like a woman to talk dirty, to say nasty things to me. And when I make her scream, it gets me so hard I could come in my jeans like some little thirteen-year-old kid seeing tits for the first time.
Speaking of tits, hers taste so good, feel so soft in my hands, against my lips. She’s a C-cup, unless I miss my guess, not that it matters, because, like all of her, they’re perfect. Big enough to hold, grip, and knead and overflow my hands. Softer than silk or satin. Firm. Thick, sensitive nipples surrounded by lush dark pink areolae.
She’s gasping beneath me, sucking in desperate breaths as she comes down from two intense and vocal orgasms, and I’m just staring at her, soaking in her beauty, memorizing every single inch. Her thighs, pale and strong. Angular hipbones, padded with curves. That dip, there at her hips. Her ass, round and high and firm.
And…Jesus, her pussy. That pussy. So tight and wet and sensitive. Each touch of my tongue drove her wild. Going down on her wasn’t just to get her off, to make her lose control — it was an homage. It was worship of her body, her slick, deep sex, her pink delicate labia and her small, hard, sensitive clit.
I’m kissing her mouth and she’s breathing into me, pulling away and holding my head and looking at me with these pale sky-blue eyes hot with passion, emblazoned and emboldened with need and searching me, penetrating into my soul, wet with emotion and melting with affection. She kisses me, leaning up, and then she falls back. Her hands are on my ears, sliding down to my cheeks, holding my jaw. One hand on my cheek, thumb at my lips, the other feathering through my hair and caressing the nape of my neck with her fingertips in a way that has me wanting to melt into her, wanting to purr like a cat and beg her to tell me how to please her. It’s a gentle, affectionate gesture that is almost too heady, too soul-shakingly tender for me to handle.
She lifts up on her shoulder blades, neck arching, to kiss me, I thought, but no. Not a kiss. Her tongue touches my chin, my upper lip. She’s licking her essence off my mouth, and holy fuck is that hot. So hot.
She’s pawing at my shirt. “Too—too many damned clothes.”
Ripping at it impatiently, she pulls it up over my skull, but it’s stuck with my face in the opening. I am Cornholio! The joke flits through my head, but I don’t say it. I shrug out of the shirt, toss it aside.
“Better?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Mmmm-mmm. Not better. Not enough.” She reaches between us, fumbles at my zipper. “Pants. No more pants.”
I like this Reagan, this demanding, voracious, hot-eyed vixen. I feel like I broke down some wall inside her, broke through her reserves or her fear or her nerves or whatever, knocked down those walls to bring out a sex-starved demon.
I go for the button-snap of my jeans, but I’m not fast enough for her. She shoves at me, knocks me to my back. Kneels beside me and jerks my jeans down. I lift my butt up, and she’s got them off. I’m commando, and she’s gasping, panting, sighing as I lie naked before her. I like that moan, that sound of appreciation, the way her eyes light up and her nostrils flare and her lips curve up in a smile at the sight of my rigid cock. I lie still, knowing if I move a single muscle I’ll have her on her hands and knees in front of m
e, driving into her.
I’ll have her like that sometime soon. Oh, yes. I’ll have her in the hay, a blanket beneath us, her tits swaying and her sweet ass spread wide open for me, thick round flesh and muscle cushioning me, taking me balls-deep in her tight pussy. I’ll bend her over her bed and up against the wall of the barn out back where she first fondled me into coming all over both of us. I’ll have her everywhere and anywhere.
But this? Here and now? This is about her. Not me. It’s about showing her that I can’t fucking breathe for wanting her, that her desires, her need, her desperation are all I care about, that giving her exactly what she wants, what she needs, is my only focus. That she’s worth the whole goddamn world, even if all I can offer her is my fucked-up self.
So I lie still, moments from spooging on myself because she’s so fucking hot, her lips swollen from kissing me, glistening and moist and parted, her tits hanging heavy and lush and luscious, her thighs opened just enough to give me a teasing glimpse of her pussy, of the curls of pubic hair that I’m glad she didn’t shave totally. I lie still and wait for her to take what she wants.
She reaches out hesitantly, her eyes on my dick, tongue-tip tracing her lower lip.
“Anything you want,” I say. “Take. Demand. I’m here, and I’m yours. I want you to be happy.”
She blinks and looks me in the eye. “I’m torn. I want you inside me. I want to come while you’re inside me.” My cock twitches because I want that so bad I can feel it. But I stay still and listen. “But I want to make you feel as good as I felt.”
She wraps her fist around my cock, runs her thumb over my tip. I tense and close my eyes, and tighten up all my muscles.
I used to be able to hold back until I wanted to let go. I used to have almost total control. Not anymore, unfortunately. That kind of muscle control is the use-it-or-lose-it kind. I’m trying to act confident and in control for her, because she wants to forget — she wants to just abandon herself to feeling for a while, and I know I can give that to her. But this is totally new for me, too. On so many levels. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this. It was a good year and a half in Afghanistan, which is a hell of a dry spell. There was leave, sure. Liberty, and whatever. Some fine-ass chicks on deployment, too. But our company CO frowned on that kind of fraternization because it just causes trouble in most cases. Which I totally got, having seen buddies hook up with girls from their company or others, and when spats happened, as they inevitably will, it made shit messy. So I avoided that, a rare display of restraint in that department for me, really. And as for the local talent? No. Leave it there. Just no. Too dangerous, if it existed at all. So that long dry spell, plus three years as a POW, plus the three months in rehab? I’m so sex-starved as to be dangerous to humanity.
And I’ve changed. That, more than anything, is the biggest issue. I’m not the same guy who shipped out to Afghanistan. I used to bag ’em and tag ’em. Take what I wanted and split. Oh, I was attentive to how the girl beneath me was feeling, because it just feels better and is more fun if she’s a willing and eager participant. Make her feel good, you’ll feel good. And I was good at making ’em feel really damn good. Now? I’m worried I’m not good enough for a fucking goddess like Reagan. I’m worried I’ve lost my touch. I’m worried I’ll have some kind of flashback or freakout and ruin things.
That’s inside.
Outside, I’m trying to play it cool.
Except, she strokes me. Once. Twice. Her petite but strong hand sliding down my length, burying at my root. Drifting up. Light touch, palm grazing. Cupping over the head, squeezing and rolling. I crane my neck to watch, and fucking hell it’s erotic as shit watching her touch me. Her hand is small, makes my cock look that much bigger. She can wrap her fist around me, fingertips barely meeting, both hands on me, sliding hand over hand, and there’s still cock spilling up over her hand. She’s doing that hand-over-hand thing, and I fucking love it. I love the downward slide of her hands, the constant touch and pressure.
And I’m groaning. Fisting my hands in the saddle blanket to keep still. Sweating, trying not to hump her fist.
“You better stop that, or this’ll be over before it starts,” I end up having to say. “I’m trying to hold back, but…god, that feels good.”
“You made me come really hard, Derek. It felt so good, it was…almost too good. I almost couldn’t take it.”
“So I did something right at least.”
She ignores me. “And it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this, but I want to make you feel good, too.”
“No, this is about you, Reagan.”
She shakes her head, pausing with both hands around my dick, just the bulbous head sticking up over the top of her fist. “No. I want…Derek, I want this to be about us.”
She glances at me, offers me a shy smile. Strokes me again, hand-over-hand, and I have to seize up again, think about not coming, don’t look at her, think about the sky or the trees—
Nope. That’s not working. She’s got my sac in one hand now, cupping gently, rolling and squeezing so softly, massaging. Middle finger extended down past my balls, massaging there. Fuck, I can’t hold it.
“Reagan….”
“Sshh.” She’s sliding her fist up and down my length. Driving, pumping. Relentless. “Give it to me. Let me have it, Derek. I want it. Let me see it.”
“What?”
“Your come.”
“Shit, Reagan, I’m right there. I can’t hold back. I can’t stop it.” I’m gasping, and I’m totally in her control now.
I want to come. Need to. I’d do anything she asked of me right now, if only she’d let me come.
“Good. That’s what I want.” She slows her strokes. “This is your turn.”
She pulls my cock away from my body, stretches it. Grips tight and grinds her fingers down my length, and I growl. I force my eyes open, and I’m glad I did. She’s so lovely. So hot. Hair the color of pure honey draping over one shoulder, skin tanned and flawless, breasts swinging as she leans over me.
Oh, god, she’s going to. God, I hope she does. I’m selfish, so selfish. I want her mouth around me. I shouldn’t; it’s too soon for her to give me something like that. But I don’t have the self-control to stop her as she bends over me, her silken boobs sliding against my ribcage and over my stomach, pressing against me as she puts her face to my hip. She’s watching herself stroke me into orgasm.
“You’re so goddamn sexy, Derek. You are. I hope you know that. You’re not just handsome — I mean, you’re that, too, but you’re sexy. You’re gorgeous.” She’s going slowly, my cock stretched out to keep me from coming, sliding up and down so, so slowly it’s making me insane. But I listen, and listen well, because I really need to hear what she’s saying to me. I need the reaffirmation, too. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to use this word this soon between us, but…I love your cock. I love the way it feels. I love the way it looks in my hands. So big, so thick. It’s straining, isn’t it? Does it hurt yet?”
She twists her neck to glance at me.
I gasp, swallow hard. “Yeah, it hurts.”
“You want to come?”
I nod. “Fuck—fuck yeah. God…damn, Reagan. What the hell are you doing to me? I want to come so bad.”
“I’m doing what you did to me, hopefully.” She takes my dick in both hands now and pumps me up and down, hard and fast, still straining away from my body. “Where? Where, Derek? Where do you want to come? Tell me.”
“Anywhere.”
“In me? On me?” I look into her eyes. She’s getting a rush from this; her pupils are dilated, and her breath is coming fast.
“How—shit, shit, I’m so close—how am I supposed to decide?”
She slows, shifts closer. I can feel her breath on my cock. “Like this?”
“You…if you want to….” That’s what I want, so bad, but I wouldn’t ask her.
I used to tell girls to suck my dick all the time, and they would, but Reagan…she de
serves better, deserves more, deserves to be treated like fucking gold, get what she wants, make herself happy.
Her cheek is on my stomach, over my navel, and she’s got her slim little hands around my cock and going so slowly, and I’m seriously about to beg her to let me come, because I’m still just barely holding back, and I can’t anymore. God, yes. Yes. She lets my cock go flat against my stomach. She cups my balls in one hand, massaging them with her warm, gentle palm. Strokes me hard and fast near the top, short hard strokes, and I’m done.
“Reagan, Jesus, Reagan….”
“You’re coming?”
“Uh-huh….”
“Hard?”
“Fuck…so hard.”
She moans, a murmur in her throat, and slides her face away. I come, a gushing explosion that has me juddering and shuddering and grunting. I feel the stream jet out of me, hitting my stomach. She lifts my cock and takes me into her mouth for the second surge, and she’s not stroking me, no, she’s caressing me, soft, slow, gentle caresses of my length. Reagan is taking just the head of my cock between her lips, and it’s just too good to believe, that she’s doing this to me.
“Oh, god, Reagan, fuck, oh, my god.”
“Mmmm.”
And then I’m out of her mouth, the air cool on the wetness of her saliva and my come coating my cock, and she’s still slicking her hand down my length, up over the tip, smearing the juices and stroking until I’m helpless to do anything but curl up and arch my back and thrust my hips, groaning. I feel a third gush of come splash out of me, watch it cover her fingers and drip down her knuckles. She grinds her fist down to my root and takes me in her mouth again, sucking until I feel myself clench again and let go with one last, small surge.
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