Page 113 of Returned Mail

“Good, let it,” I say. “You don’t need it right now.”

Her legs clamp around my shoulders as soon as my tongue touches her, then fall open again when I murmur against her to breathe, to let go, that I've got her. Her fingers drag through my hair, tugging, guiding, losing rhythm when sensation takes over.

“Fuck, right there. George—” She comes with a shattered cry, back bowing off the couch, my name on her lips. But I don’t stop. I keep touching her until she pulls weakly at me, gasping. “I can’t— Fuck.”

I move back up slowly, kissing my way across her body as she tries to remember how to exist. When I reach her mouth, she pulls me in, kissing me with a hunger that wipes out any lingering doubt. I know she tastes herself on my mouth, but that doesn’t stop her. She kisses me harder.

Her hand slips between us, sliding under the waistband of my sweats. I hiss, hips jerking.

“Oh wow,” she whispers, wicked and sweet.

“Jesus,” I mutter, grabbing her wrist gently before she learns exactly how far gone I am. “If you keep that up, I'm not going to make it past thirty seconds.”

She grins, flushed and smug. “Maybe I want you wrecked.”

“You already have me wrecked, sweetheart,” I say. “But I am not blowing this. I’m not coming in my pants.” I sit up just enough to shove my sweats down and kick them off. Her eyes drag over me.

I brace myself above her again, breathing hard.

“Last chance,” I say, voice ragged. “You sure?”

She wraps her legs around my hips, grabs my cock with one hand, and pulls me closer to her, pushing it inside of her with a moan. “Oh, fuck. Does that answer your question?” she whispers.

I push forward again, slow, careful, watching her face the whole time. She gasps, eyes fluttering closed, hand flying up to grip my shoulder. I stop, grit my teeth, give her a second.

“Still okay?” I manage.

She opens her eyes, and what’s in them nearly drops me. “More, I want more.” She whispers, so I give her more.

She’s panting, moaning. Her head is falling back towards the couch. She’s rolling her eyes, grabbing my shoulder, the couch, anything she can find. Every push, every drag, every roll of her hips meets me halfway, so I thrust deeper, harder, and all I can hear is, “Fuck George, you— God…Fuck.”

“God can’t help you right now, sweetheart. It’s all me. So use your words, Mia. Tell me. I what?” I say, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at me.

“You— You fuck me so good,” she says with a smirk, still moaning.

That breaks me.

I settle back into the couch and guide her onto me, watching the bounce of her tits as she straddles me. Just like I imagined when she sent me her pictures. “Fuck—come on, move for me, sweetheart.”

And she does.

She's bouncing on me like her life depends on it, rolling her hips, working herself on me in ways that have me right fucking there. I'm about to come, but I force myself to hold back. “Just like that, Mia, keep moving. Fuck, don’t stop.”

She clenches around me, and I feel her losing it, that soft moan spilling from her lips as her head tips back.

It’s perfect.

I take advantage, grabbing her tits, putting them in my mouth, biting and sucking her nipples while thrusting harder. “George, fuck— I’m coming, I’m⁠—”

That’s all I hear before she comes around my cock. She's squirting all over me, soaking my lap, drenching the couch, and I feel the shame wash over her face, that little flicker of embarrassment. But I'm not having it. Before she can say anything, I do, “Don't you dare apologize for coming like that.”

“How did you⁠—”

“I know you, Mia. You have that ‘I’m sorry’ look on your face.” I pull her face closer to mine, my eyes locked on hers. “So, I’m telling you, don’t. You can come around my cock like that anytime.”

She laughs, breathless, and gets to her feet.

Without hesitation, she spreads my legs open and drops straight to her knees between them, shoving me back against the couch. I let her. I watch as she wraps that beautiful mouth around me, and I literally see stars.