The Truth about Porn Star Boyfriends

by Sunniva Dee

  I hear him suckle like he’s never tasted anything better. It shoots desire straight to my lips, making me moan his name.

  Just a small jerk. He makes my body jump a little on top of him, and I moan again when he’s got my sweetest spot hitting his member. “You like that.” I’m glad it’s not a question. He bounces me again, meeting me with all this fabric between us, his slacks and my skirt—wait—he bundles it up. It’s just sheer panties between me and his slacks now—

  A zipper.

  I lose my breath. Am I ready for this? I open my eyes, fear and anticipation widening them. Is he going to...?

  He twists me, sure hands lying me on my back—

  “Shouldn’t we go somewhere private?”

  “This is private. Mrs. Brandt won’t be coming back. Lift your hips, baby.”

  Breathless, I watch him roll pink lace down my legs. His stare scorches as it meets mine and drops my panties to the floor. I laugh. If only it didn’t sound like a hiccup. “I don’t know if I...”

  “If you want this?” His voice is so soft, so understanding.

  “Mhm.”

  “Do you not want it?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  His kisses are light and hot and trace the inside of my thigh. My legs straighten. They part, and Ciro’s lashes tickle, making me shiver again.

  “I think you do want it. See how smart it is to communicate first?”

  “Uh-huh!” I squeak.

  He licks my skin, sucks, trails higher. I’m so bare down there. It makes me more shy, knowing he’s so well versed in women. He’s seen it all. I close my eyes again when he finds me, all tongue and mouth, licking, enjoying, groans of contentment emitting from him. “I love eating pussy.”

  Oh geez.

  “Yours is exquisite.” He dives in again, clutching my legs tighter and causing me to bend off the couch toward him. “I love the taste of you, baby. It’s intoxicating.”

  “Ahh.”

  “I forgot to ask,” he hums, “if you like having your pussy eaten.”

  I’m too busy struggling to get enough oxygen into my lungs to answer.

  “Never mind now.” He steadies my wild hips with both hands, keeping me under control like I’m some bucking animal. His mouth parts my cleft, allowing his tongue, long and insistent, to stroke over my lips, my clit, and finding the holiest where he delves in. For a moment, he lets go to send me a mischievous smirk. “Let’s get you off.”

  I squeal, trying to push his head away, but he’s heavy, and there’s no way in hell I can get him to ease up on this sweet pleasure. “Stop… I can’t do this now. Let’s… wait.”

  I’m panting with the effort. Really, I don’t want to finish this way. I want us to last. I want to feel him inside of me. I want to see him come apart and not be over it myself by the time that happens. I’ve never talked about these things before, so it’s odd even to have a plan in my head.

  He sits up on his knees, hands on his thighs. Then he studies me, reading between lines I’m having trouble uttering.

  “Are you a single-orgasm woman?”

  Jesus.

  “Are you always this straight forward?”

  Ciro’s brows rise. “I guess I am. Are you? Is this about saving your orgasm until I’m inside of you?”

  I think there are times when sensuality disappears with too much talk. I wish I could say this was one of those times, but his voice is so silky—deep—delicious, it almost matches the pleasure from his tongue. I’m about to combust. I try to keep myself from writhing.

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you ever had multiple orgasms?” He takes a hold of his shirt and pulls it over his head onehanded. I swallow at the sight of him. Mentally, I check off two truths: going to the gym really, really works for him, and his filming in the Caribbean must have happened under a sunny sky.

  “What?” I manage, clearing my throat, because while his hands return to my knees, massaging my upper thighs, my stare draws to his zipper. Which is unapologetically gaping, outlining a monster of a boner that’s hitting the lining on his boxer briefs.

  “I said, ‘Have you ever had multiple orgasms?’” he repeats patiently.

  “Mm, I don’t think so.”

  “You’d remember if you had.”

  “Okay, no, I haven’t.” I try to cover my face with the back of my hand.

  He peels his pants off, boxers going with them. His beast bobs from the movement. Freaking bobs. What am I supposed to do? It can’t possibly fit.

  “Okay.” He lowers himself over me, elbows hitting the pillows beneath my shoulders. A sigh escapes him before he finds my mouth and kisses me gently. All I can think about is his smooth, warm extension rubbing against my bare stomach, how he lowers himself a little so part of it brushes over my cleft. “I won’t be challenging your orgasms tonight—there’s plenty of time for that later—because I want you to feel comfortable. I want you to get pleased out of your mind without being worried.”

  I feel lightheaded.

  “I’m worried though,” I croak out as he rubs us together, his cock moving precariously close to my opening when he sinks in our rhythm.

  “Why, baby? Don’t be afraid. Yeah, he’s big, but trust me; I know how to do this. We’ll take it slow, ease him inside of you. You’ll be surprised at how you’ll stretch to take me and how good you will feel.”

  Oh geez. I like dirty-talk. I do, I do when it comes from him in that deep, silky voice that can drive a girl crazy. And that was scary and dirty, which apparently is even hotter to my suddenly deranged brain.

  A small keening noise slips out of me. I’m afraid Ciro will rear back on his haunches, asking me more details about how I like it. Instead, he remains with me, warm, alive, hard, close. I cling to him, bringing him closer.

  Gentle but insistent, he reaches between us, feeling me, entering me with a finger, then two. I keen again, not a sound one does on purpose. It’s an out-of-control thing, and he’s being so deliberate. My heart storms. My abdomen, my—

  I’m on storm watch!

  “Shhh. You’ll be okay,” he coaxes at my ear. “You like me close like this? Skin against skin?” He embraces me, and the scent of him is heady.

  A tremble rushes through me. “Yes, always… I like close.”

  “See?” he whispers. “How hard was that to say? She likes it close. She wants me close.” The last part he sings a little. “Oh you’ll have me all over, so close.”

  “Ah…” For each word I say, he packs sentences and meaning into his reply. I like everything about him, every-, everything.

  Ciro cups my neck, meeting my lips while he rips a condom open behind my head. I let out a displeased sound when he removes the hard shield of his body from mine to sheath himself in a three-second rush. So fast, so smooth. God, I can’t think about how many times he’s done this before. He told me he’s had a lot of girlfriends. Guys have more girlfriends than girls have boyfriends though. I think.

  He slides against me, and I’m too close to my orgasm. I try to protest, but my words have disappeared. There are only sounds left. Without removing his nearness, he unbuttons my shirt and leaves me heated and shivering. It takes him one second to grasp the mechanism of my bra, undo it, and suddenly it’s just us—us—

  All man sinks down, covering every inch of me. I feel his weight pressing me into the cushion, contented groans hitting my ear as he wraps his arms around my body. God, we work in sync. No need to talk. His bulb presses against my opening, and there’s nothing I want more in this world.

  “Is this okay?” he exhales, breaching me. I moan out how okay it is. So, so okay. I tense, hips jutting upward as he enters me a little bit more. Oh he fills me, and my heart just sets off running. I can’t run. I don’t want to run.

  “Still okay, baby girl?”

  Crazy okay. Can
’t talk.

  When he starts to pull out, I’m scared he won’t continue. Without thinking, I clutch his waist with both hands and hold on desperately.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes me, finding my mouth and drinking my moan from it. “We just need to get you used to me.” I love, love so hard that his voice breaks.

  “You like this?” My words—I’m brave and chockfull of want for him.

  He laughs softly. The pressure of him intensifies, widens me. My legs are brave too, suddenly scissoring his butt and drawing him in. “Oh yes, I do. Even through the condom, I feel your heat around me. I can’t wait to go balls deep in you.”

  “I’m ready.” My voice shakes.

  “Be patient. I don’t want to take any chances. We’re going slow.” He moves again, but I’m ravenous now, wanting what he wants... balls deep. Crude, real, honest. All of him. For each miniature thrust, he enters me more. It’s unbelievable—

  “You’re so in control of this!” I whine. I’m rubbing against him, shameless, making us one person with every inch of skin touching and caressing as we move. He doesn’t laugh. There’s a sweet stab going off in my uterus as I realize that he’s as affected as me.

  “Don’t. I’m losing it, baby girl. Don’t say anymore.”

  “Come to me.”

  “Savannah,” he warns. “There’s more left...”

  “Give me all of you.”

  He stops. For just a moment, he stops on top of me. I feel his cock jerk once before it settles again in its rock-hard form. Ciro shakes his head against my temple. A whispered chuckle. “I can’t believe I have to stop myself from fucking coming in you. We haven’t even started yet. You make me crazy.”

  I contract around him, an involuntary reaction.

  “Don’t. Do that.”

  “I know, sorry,” I moan. “You just feel so good.”

  “You’re ready? Really?” He sounds hopeful. “Are you sure? I shouldn’t yet.”

  “Shut up, trust me. I’m begging here.”

  “Begging to get thoroughly fucked,” he hums.

  Shit. He can’t talk like that now.

  “Less talk, more action.” I swallow and try to think of glaciers and polar bears. It’s not working.

  “Yeah?” How does he make even yeah sound sexy as fuck?

  “Yes, dammit.”

  With a groan, he jabs me, all the way, to the bottom, until there’s nowhere inside of me that he’s not. I’m so full of him, I squeal. I see him scrunch his eyes shut with pleasure, but then they widen, and he holds still, cupping my face with his hands. My body arches upward on its own, spasming.

  There’s no way to hold back this orgasm. It’s so intense, I don’t know what to do. It goes on and on, and he’s not even moving. My brain is in mutiny, scared to death of the pleasure, of the pain inside of me. Oh I don’t know how I have room for all of him, how it can be this delicious and so painful at once!

  “Too much?” he whispers. “Do you want me to pull out?” His gaze burns, sucking up my orgasm, reveling in it and storing it in his Savannah archive of sex.

  “No!”

  He kisses me, tongue deep and stroking mine as I return to earth. I’m panting. My heart jackhammers. Adrenaline, endorphins. I blink up at him, and a glorious smile spreads on his face.

  “That was crazy,” I manage. “Time to move.”

  “Out of you?”

  “Hell no. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Our turn.”

  “Yeah, I’m still having my turn,” I admit with the aftershocks clenching my vagina.

  He starts to move then. Slowly at first. In. Out. In. Out. His hips undulate a little and it’s like he massages me inside, finding secret spots to stroke me in there. I’m so receptive right now. He feels deep even when most of him isn’t inside, but miraculously it feels even better when he’s so close that trimmed pubic hair grinds with mine.

  Short puffs of pleasure come from him. He holds my face, making me meet his stare. Aqua eyes dark with the moment. Lips ravenous, kissing me, never stopping. “Close, like this. You like us close?”

  “God, yes...” This isn’t happening. He’s relentless, a languorous steady rhythm, building me again. He’s the center of my senses, at my core, in my core, and my desire for him laps outward through my stomach and into every cell until I am liquid with it.

  He speeds up so gradually I don’t notice the change at first. But then my hips meet his at a faster pace, and he’s entering me with more insistence, searching my face. “Let them out.”

  “What?” I breathe.

  “The moans. I want every. One. Of. Your moans.”

  I squeak as he rams deep. I’m not a wild-ride girl, but he escalates us in an intoxicating, merciless climb, and then I’m in this frenzy—I’m clawed into his shoulders and hooked around his body, absorbing the shock of every fast stroke.

  He comes with the most exquisite groan. It rumbles in his throat, and I’m lucid enough to watch his face contract with ecstasy. “Ah Savannah.”

  And suddenly I’m off the ledge again, freefalling into a shivering second climax for the first time in my life.

  Crazy. So crazy. Where the hell do we go from here?

  The sun shimmers through long, white drapes, and I take a moment to understand where I am. This bedroom isn’t mine. It’s enormous with floor-to-ceiling glass panels making up the far wall. I glimpse a wraparound outside, one I’ve danced on, but I’m unsure if there’s a door giving to it or not.

  What would a bed bigger than king-sized be called? I think there’s a California size too, but I’d go with sultan-sized for Ciro’s.

  Yes, Ciro and I are on a sultan-sized bed with an upholstered headboard. Deep red satin sheets and pillows create the only splash of color in this utterly white room. He has a fireplace here. Fat, white candles we didn’t take the time to light when we went to bed. These sheets smell like warm skin and pine and man.

  My sex-induced coma must have made me fall out of his arms. I grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser when I went to the bathroom earlier. It reaches me mid-thigh as I crawl toward him and accommodate myself on my knees, fists against the mattress.

  Ciro lies on his back, facing the ceiling. His arms and hands are spread open, a finger twitching now and then in dream. Full of energy, he pursued me for a month and a half, and now he has me. Boy, does he have me. He’s got me so hooked I even dreamed about him last night. All these images of him on boats with girls—I was there too—everyone naked, touching, kissing, and drinking. I shake the dream off.

  I can’t stop staring. In sleep, he’s carefree with every feature smooth like he’s somewhere beautiful. I wonder if he styles his hair into that just-fucked ’do sometimes or if it always falls like this naturally. Now it drapes from the even planes of his forehead toward the pillow, and I want to pull my fingers through it.

  Those lips. Are so sensual. They look like they can do crazy stuff to a girl, and guess what? I know firsthand that they can make you lose your shit.

  What happened last night is surreal. He was so sure, knew exactly what to do to me, and his body moved like some professional athlete’s.

  This man has intrigued me since the first time I met him. Yes, he’s a stud, but he’s kind too. He’s caring. Add sensuality and mystery to his list, then top it off with the hunter instinct of a man who knows what he wants. I never stood a chance.

  If I think about it too much, it’s scary as hell. But this morning, I just want to feel blissed out. I’m full of how he treated me last night. I’m crazy over him. In lust, crushing, in love, who knows. I guess I’m a little bit obsessed right now, which does nothing to suppress the impending doom in my chest.

  As if he hears my thoughts, thick lashes flutter apart. Beneath, silver flecks seem to glow in the early morning light. I wonder if they’re his calm happi
ness spots, while the golden ones are his desire spots?

  “Morning, girlfriend.” He groans contentedly and reaches for me with a hand that’s dusted with golden hairs. “How aren’t you in my arms?”

  I smile and swallow my misgivings. “Because I went on an outing to your bathroom—impressive, by the way—and also, your bed is ginormous, and I move a lot in my sleep.”

  “Funny.”

  I love the sound of his voice. During the day, it’s rich, a midrange baritone. Now, I’m swooning over his morning voice, which is deeper and a little hoarse.

  “Come here,” he says, lacing our fingers and hauling me in. “Cute shirt.” A quick kiss to my temple, and then he pulls me down so that I’m stretched out on top of him. His morning wood presses against my stomach. It instantly sets my body on fire. I actually hold my breath against an unseemly grunt.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah. I dreamed about you.”

  “You did?” Besides looking a little more awake, he doesn’t seem surprised. “Did I behave?”

  No. Well, yeah. Depends on what you mean.

  “You were being naughty.”

  “Sounds like me.” He rubs himself lazily against me, and I can’t help pressing down toward him. With me wearing just a t-shirt, he could slide right inside me if he wanted to. I don’t know if I’d have the will power to stop him.

  He cups my butt through the fabric and massages me. I close my eyes and sway with his touch. Hard muscle forms to my shifts, adding pressure and heat in the right moment, in the right places. It’s too perfect.

  “Ciro, it’s like you were made for this. For, you know...”

  “Fucking?”

  “Well, I guess. Though I’d probably have chosen a different word.”

  “We’re all made for it.” He punctuates by thrusting us together. “If we weren’t, we’d be extinct.”

  “Silly. Everyone can do it, but not everyone looks like and performs and completes the act as if they were made for the sole purpose of making love.”

  His arms glide up until he can cup my face and kiss me. “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”