Page 56 of Making Over Maris

“God,” he hissed as the tip kissed her slick skin. “God.”

He slipped in.

She groaned as he stretched her and then she garbled something incomprehensible as he filled her. It was… He was…

“Oh, Jack.”

“Yeah. Oh, Sara. Yeah. Oh my God. So long. So fucking long.”

She had no idea what he was talking about but she hardly cared because he pulled out, a quick, desperate withdrawal, then shoved in. And again. And again. It felt so good she started to drool.

With each thrust, he reawakened that spot, the spot no one had ever found before, never touched. To her surprise, she felt it, the beast that had taken her before, hunting her again. Like a feral predator on the Serengeti, pleasure stalked her.

“Jack. Yes. Like that.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, guided him, urged him on.

He complied. His strokes became shorter, faster. Unbelievably, his cock swelled to an even greater girth inside her. Pleasure rained through her as he plagued that bundle of screaming nerves, rasping over it, teasing.

And then he changed angles, measured his plunges.

And hit it.

Head-on.

She exploded, fractured, spiraled out of control.

It was so fucking good.

Better than—anything.

As she came, he lost control as well. He stiffened, thrust again, hard. As his cum erupted, his cock jerked and railed and shuddered inside her. He groaned—a rumbling rattle of agony and bliss, hot against her neck—and collapsed.

She held him close though she was feeling boneless as well. They stayed that way for quite a while.

He recovered first, lifted his head and kissed her. “Sara.”

That one word said it all.

But she had the urge to add one more thing before they drifted off into a drowsy mist, wrapped in each other’s arms, tangled there on the comfy couch. “I’m so glad,” she said, “I didn’t go for the cheesecake instead.”

Because seriously.

Low-fat.