“Really. So have some compassion and spread your fucking legs.”
“Oh no,” she says, putting her hand on my chest and pushing me back. “You lie back. You spread your fucking legs.”
I cock a brow. “What?”
“Believe me,” she says saucily, pushing me flat on my back. “You want this.”
She straddles me, and I wish she was facing the window so I can see those fantastic tits more clearly. “Do you have a condom?” I ask, my voice croaking with need.
“Yes, for later,” she says and keeps moving back until she’s at my knees. “You won’t want one now.” She rakes her nails over the hard planes of my stomach, my abs tensing from the abrasion, before she settles in between my legs.
My cock juts straight up, nearly obscuring her from my view. I prop one arm beneath my head, my other hand sinking into her hair, wrapping the silky strands around my fingers.
She takes my length in her hand, and my blood pulses against her palm. The feeling is nearly too much to bear. Her mouth opens, those lush lips sliding over the tip, pushing me into a flurry of lust that sends my eyes back into my skull. Fuck she’s good, sliding her tongue over the veins, over every hardened ridge, like she can’t get enough, like I’m a fucking ice cream cone on a hot day.
“Fuck,” I mutter, eyes pinched shut, pulling on her hair. “Don’t fucking stop.”
She pulls her mouth off, a wet sucking sound, and I think for a terrible moment that she is stopping, and every part of me tenses in frustration. Then her hand comes down over my cock, sliding like silk, pulling back to the base until I think my head might explode. I jerk my hips up, craving release.
But she has more planned. She lowers her head and slowly, gently takes my balls into her mouth, while stroking me off with her hand.
Jesus. Thank you. Thank you. Rare is the woman who will suck on your balls like candy. I wonder if I can smuggle Kayla back in my carry-on. She’s small enough.
I don’t want to come though. I lift my head, trying to speak. My throat is so dry, my thoughts scrambled. Everything is being redirected to primal instinct, the drive to come and come as hard as I can, and it doesn’t help that I have this shadowy view of her head between my legs, tongue and lips sucking my thin skin until I don’t know my own name.
“I want to be inside you,” I manage to say, my tongue feeling heavy.
She shakes her head, the vibrations driving me mad. I grip her hair tighter. I want her to stop and I don’t at the same time, but she’s the one in control.
“Kayla,” I say, before I moan as another wave of pleasure robs me of speech.
She just pumps her fist harder, and I know I’m a goner.
It sneaks up on me, like someone tackling you from behind. I’m thrown into metaphysical space, my balls emptying, shooting my load somewhere, who knows. It doesn’t matter because I’ve gone off like a detonation, light bursting behind my eyes, and the groans out of my throat are loud, hoarse, and deafening.
It takes a few moments for me to catch my breath, for my heart rate to stop galloping like an animal on the run. My thoughts won’t gather; I can only lie here while Kayla extracts herself and lies down next to me, her head propped up on her hand, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest.
“Hey,” she says.
I clear my throat. “Hello.” Even so, my voice is rough like sandpaper. “That was…”
“I know,” she says, completely confident in the many ways she just undid me. “It was the least I could do for three orgasms last night.”
I lick my parched lips and tilt my head to stare at her in the dimness. Her eyes are so wet and dark, and I know I have a bad habit of staring into them for too long, but I can’t help it.
I reach over and take a strand of her hair between my fingers and gently brush it off her face. There’s something about her that makes me tender from time to time. She tries her hardest not to show it, but I can see it, how vulnerable she is deep down. How badly she fights to cover it up with brevity and cynicism, but I know it’s there. It brings out my ever-present protectiveness.
“I guess you should be going soon,” she says softly.
I’m taken aback. Like a dog, my hackles go up. “Okay…”
She curls her hand around the back of my neck and leans in closer. “I don’t want you to go. But you do have two dogs at your apartment and I have to get up for work soon.”
I nod. Right. The dogs. She’s right. I’d never planned on staying the night, it just happened that way. Coming inside her was like taking a massive sleeping pill, and the fact that I just came again—all over my stomach—means I’m apt to fall right back asleep.
“Do you have a towel or tissue paper?” I ask her, nodding at my stomach, at the cum that glistens in a pool. I’m lucky I didn’t get it in my eye.
She gets out of bed, her sleek, curvy body like a woman’s silhouette in a spy film. She tosses me a tissue box from her bookshelf and I quickly mop up the mess.
“Need a shower?” she asks when I’m done. Her voice drops a register, getting all Scarlet Johansson-ish. “I could use one.”
It’s a tonic to my dick, and I feel it pulse, despite how exhausted it has to be. But I’m not exhausted. I also have no intention of going home right away if I can help it. It’s still so early, the dogs should be sleeping. They’ll be okay for a little bit before I return. I don’t know how many more minutes of Kayla Moore I get in my lifetime.
“Sure,” I tell her. She takes my hand in hers and pulls me off the bed. Now that I’m looming over her, she looks so willowy, tiny, and dare I say, helpless, even though I know she’s anything but.
She glances down, sees the stirrings of another erection.
“The hell,” she says. “How is that even possible?”
I stand there proudly before her. “Anything is possible with me.”
“You really are a beast,” she comments.
“Funny,” I tell her, “that’s my nickname on the field.”
“And in the bedroom, I guess.”
“No,” I tell her, putting my hands on the soft small of her waist and pulling her in. “Only with you.”
I can tell she’s grinning at me. She steps out of my grasp and does a sexy walk, her hips swaying back and forth, all the way to the washroom. She flicks on the light then throws her hand in front of her face, blinking hard.
“It’s a bit bright,” she says.
“All the better to see you,” I tell her, following her in.
Her bathroom is about the size of a shoe box, with a sink, toilet, and glass-encased shower. A large mirror extends along the entire wall, adding depth. I stare at our reflections. I look so giant next to her, the scars, my messy hair, the scores of tattoos. I look like a bruiser, a fighter, a reject. She looks like a princess compared to me, so delicate and soft and pale. I really am the beast here.
Thank god she likes it. She’s meeting my eyes in the reflection, and her lips part just enough for me to get a glimpse of her tongue.
“Get in the shower,” I tell her. “Lather up.”
She frowns, walking over to it and turning it on. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s barely big enough for the both of us,” I tell her. “I’m going to watch you clean yourself. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you silly.”
She tilts her head, appraising me with a look of wonder on her sweet face. “Who are you again? The insatiable man?”
“Perfectly paired with the insatiable girl.” I give her a half-smile and jerk my head at the shower. “Go.”
“All right,” she says slowly with a raise of her brows. She steps in the shower and lets the water run over her. Her neck goes back, her back arches, the water streams over her perky breasts, her tight little arse, over every soft and curvy part of her body. It’s like watching fucking porn but it’s live and in front of me, and for now, for these last hours of morning, she’s all mine.
I lean back against the sink, and in no time my cock is rock hard again and hot between my hands. I watch as she squirts body wash on a sponge and runs it all over her body, the white lather dripping between her tits and down the curve of her hips and pelvis.