Page 176 of Sexting the Pakhan

I jerk.

“You like it, don’t you?”

“Don’t sound so pleased.”

“I’m very pleased.”

His thumb circles my clit, firm and slow at first, matching the rhythm of my hips. I’m already close again, embarrassingly close, my pussy squeezing him every time he hits deep, and his mouth stays latched to my breast.

I grind down harder. He takes the hint and keeps his thumb on my clit while I ride his cock the way I want now, messy and needy, using him for exactly what I came here for.

All those nights after the girls were asleep. The dark. My phone in one hand, the other between my legs. The ugly, lonely relief of making myself come quickly and quietly because there was laundry to do tomorrow, and school runs, and meetings, and no room in my life for desire unless it could fit into the cracks.

I don’t want the cracks right now. I want this.

His cock filling me.

His face buried in my breasts.

His hand on my clit.

His mouth marking skin that has only been handled gently or functionally for years.

I come forward, almost falling against him, and he wraps one arm around my back to hold me there while I keep riding him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs into my breast. “Take what you need.”

Something about that nearly undoes me on the spot.

I take it. I use him. I move on his cock until the sound of it fills the room, wet and filthy and impossible to mistake. My thighs are burning. My clit is getting more sensitive by the second. His breathing has turned rough enough that I know he’s close too, but he keeps letting me set the pace.

I lift my head and look at him. “Don’t you dare come before I do.”

He gives me a half-lost smile. “You seem very confident.”

“I am.”

He slides his thumb harder over my clit.

I nearly sob.

“There it is,” he says.

I hate how well he knows my body. I hate how fast it all comes back. The angle of his cock, the pressure I need, the way he talks when he wants me open and honest and shameless.

I ride him faster, no grace left, only want.

His mouth goes back to my breasts. He sucks one nipple hard, then the other, burying his face between them while I fuck myself on his cock and chase the heat building low and sharp inside me.

“Ruslan,” I say, and this time it’s not a warning.

His hand tightens at my back. His thumb stays relentless on my clit.

“Come for me, Zo,” he breathes.

That does it.

The orgasm goes through me in waves. My whole body locks, then shudders. My pussy clamps down on his cock so hard he curses into my breast, and I keep moving through it because stopping feels impossible. I ride the wave until it breaks into smaller shocks, my head tipped back, my hands gripping his shoulders hard enough that I know I’ll leave marks.