Chapter 17 Finally #2
It fucking is. But could it be even better? I pull out, turn her over, and lift one leg high, hooking it over my shoulder. Then I grip her hips and thrust into her once more, pulling her into me and burying myself even deeper with every stroke.
Her eyes widen as her mouth falls open and she gasps, Oh, oh, oh.
A puff of breath punches out of her each time I bottom out, like I’m hitting some magic button.
And maybe I am, because Cleo gasps as I feel her start to work towards another climax.
Her body is tensing and jerking around my cock, and I release her hip to stroke my thumb across her fat clit, which really sets her off.
Oh, fuck, Mats, she moans as her hands fist the bedsheets.
I press myself deep inside her, and I can feel her contracting around my erection.
I watch Cleo’s face as she comes—her plump lips rounded in an O-shape and her eyelids fluttering over dazed eyes.
She’s so lovely, and seeing her as she lets go—because of the pleasure I’m giving her—is incredibly hot.
Afterwards, she lies limp, arms out and chest heaving.
Her nipples are still stiff, so I reach down and tweak one.
Her eyes fly open and focus on me. Two orgasms already? Now what?
Keeping my cock deep inside her, I scoop my forearm under her back and flip us.
I’m now stretched out on my back with Cleo straddling me.
She plants her hands against my pecs and immediately starts moving, her whole body bucking up and down as she rides my swollen cock with hard, erratic thrusts.
It feels so fucking incredible. My hands grip her hips, helping her ride me.
She leans back and brings one of her hands down to stroke her clit at the same time, and I take in the sight of her—skin glistening with the exertion, body flushed with pleasure, and her expression euphoric.
Fuck, I’m coming, I groan. Come with me.
Cleo gasps her agreement and rides me faster.
I can hear the wet noises of our bodies meeting each time I pull her down onto my cock, and my laboured breathing as I push towards my climax.
When I come for the second time, it’s almost painful it’s so good.
Afterwards, she slips off to collapse next to me and we lie side-by-side.
I close my eyes as I catch my breath, but the glow of the afternoon sunlight leaks through.
Worth waiting for? I ask.
Don’t start bragging about your physical prowess. That’s my thing. I can hear the smile in her voice.
Two athletes in one bed? I think we can both be good at physical things, I say.
Cleo laughs and holds my hand. You are an amazing fuck.
I smile. We’ve reached a new level of connection now that we know each other physically.
I never thought you were attracted to me, she says.
At first, I wasn’t, I reply.
Rude. She smacks me on the chest; it actually stings because she’s pretty strong.
Well, I could tell you disliked me. What kind of masochist would be attracted by someone giving off such clear fuck-off vibes?
I guess you have a point, but it’s not very romantic, she complains.
But to me, it’s better. Before, immediate attraction was the first step when I considered dating someone. But after everything blew up with Lana, I needed better criteria. I liked and respected Cleo’s honesty first, then we became friends, and now lovers.
I can remember the moment I first wanted to fuck you, if that helps. I turn onto my side so I can look at her.
Ooh, really? When? she demands.
When I walked in and saw you in that Keep on Trucking T-shirt. In that moment, Cleo looked both sexy and vulnerable, and it was like I was seeing the real woman for the first time.
That’s why you hoped it said Keep on Fucking? she giggles. Well, it was pretty tight.
No kidding. Her breasts were barely contained in that thing. I reach out and cup one in my hand.
I can’t even remember the exact moment when I was first attracted to you, she says.
According to the story you told Marjorie, it was at that first practice you watched, I recall.
Maybe. But it feels like there was a series of first times. Because I wasted so much time not liking you, she confesses. But seeing you play does excite me. Your vision on the ice is next-level.
I lift her hand and kiss the palm, then link my fingers through hers. It feels weird to talk hockey with someone I’ve just had sex with.
Cleo tries to pinch my side, but I twist away. Really? What about puck bunnies? Don’t they want to hear about all your goals? she asks.
Please, what kind of egomaniac would lie in bed and relive all his goals? I sputter.
O.D.? Murph? Bergy? Cleo offers up some players on my team who are on the egotistical side.
Yeah, maybe. But you score more goals than I do; we should be talking about your goals.
She smiles widely. Should I start with the first one?
Wait, you remember every one? I roll onto my back and do some quick math. She must have scored at least 300 goals in her life.
Only the important ones. But almost every goal is important.
I can tell without even looking that she’s smiling.
I sigh. Apparently, I’m the one trapped in bed with an egomaniac who’s going to relive all her goals.
Hey! You asked me to do it, she protests.
I kiss the top of her head. Yeah, you go ahead. I need to take a nap anyway.
She gasps in mock outrage and whacks me again, but I trap her hand against my chest as contentment floods me.