Page 42 of Wish I Might
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“Big talk.”She was breathing hard, her skin dewy and damp, her eyes heavy.The gold flecks in her irises were glowing.“How are you going to stop me?”
It was a fair question.She wasn’t ticklish at all, which was grossly unfair, but she had other weaknesses.“I’ll pull out and come on the floor.”
“I’m on top,” she pointed out.
“I’m stronger.”To prove it, he grasped her hips beneath the shirt and picked her straight up and off his dick.
It slapped against his belly, and she poked her lower lip out in a pout.“Give it back.”
“No tickling,” he said firmly, arms quivering as he held her up.
“I won’t tickle if you don’t come on the floor,” she countered.
“Deal.”He lowered her a fraction.“Put me back in.”
She reached down, grasped his penis, and aimed it at her hovering pussy.He eased her down, savoring the warm, slick slide, then swept his hands up her body, dragging the T-shirt up and off.
She made a grab for it.“Give me that.”
He tossed it across the room.“No.”
“Beast,” she accused.
“I thought I was a slut.”
“Beastly slut,” she said, and he would’ve laughed, but she leaned down, planted her hands on the mattress on either side of his shoulders, and began to fuck him in earnest.
Within moments he was bucking to meet her, their bodies slapping together in rhythm with the creaking of the bed.Her breasts hung down, brushing his chest, and unable to resist, he took them into his hands.
He cradled them, took their weight.Her nipples stabbed into his palms, and he could feel the racing thump of her heart.“Is this okay?”
She nodded.“Harder.”
“Like this?”he asked, and carefully tightened his grip.
Her hips picked up speed.“Just like that.”
Seeing the pleasure light her face, he almost came right then.Gritting his teeth, he fought it back—she needed to go first.It was just good manners, and besides, he wanted to see it.The way her eyes would go cloudy right before they slid closed, the way her body would shiver and shake.Her pussy would clutch and flutter and pulse, feeling like hot butter around him, slick and wet and—
His dick jerked warningly, and he frantically tried to think of something to keep himself from coming.Quarterly reports, baseball statistics, the time his great-aunt Alice had pulled her false teeth out of her bra at Thanksgiving dinner, popped them in, and ordered him to pass the corn.
“Whatcha thinking about?”Bailey panted, hips pumping, tits bouncing in his hands.“Baseball?”
He grunted out a negative response and tried not to death-grip her tits.“Great-aunt Alice.”
Her laugh was pure triumph.“That close, huh?”
“Shut up,” he ordered.If she talked about it, he’d lose his tenuous grip on control.“Hurry up and come, would you?”
“Seventy-five percent of women cannot come from vaginal penetration alone,” she informed him loftily, no small feat since she was panting like a sprinter.“We need direct clitoral stimulation.”
“Sit up and I’ll give you some.”
“No, I like this angle.”She slid up, then down, grinding her hips in circles against his groin.Her moan was deep, vibrant.“It’s working for me.”
For him, too.The tingle at the base of his spine was sharper, the pressure in his balls building.“I’m not going to last,” he warned.
