Chapter 34 #2
I suck gently, drawing shudders. Her thighs quake under my palms. She’s unraveling.
I push her further, my tongue relentless, savoring every twitch, every gasp, until she breaks—a sharp, keening cry, her body seizing, as she comes hard against my mouth.
I don’t stop, lapping her juices, and drawing out her release.
Her taste becomes sweeter, more intense, then her tremors fade to soft shakes, and her hands loosen in my hair.
Until her body becomes limp, glowing, and utterly spent.
I straighten then and lift her, her weight soft, trusting, in my arms. The sofa’s close by, its faded fabric rough under my touch as I set her down, her eyes dazed, shining.
I lean over her. Her voice is hoarse, barely her.
“There are condoms upstairs in my suitcase,” she says.
The words seem scraped from her throat. She shakes her head, lips part, and she whispers.
“I’ve never done this before with a man, not until I’m sure he’s clean…
but I’m on the pill and it’s okay if you don’t want to use one. ”
I pause, caution flaring—never trust that, never risk it—but her face, flushed, open, her breasts rising with each shallow breath, kills my doubt.
She’s truth, raw and real, and I believe her.
More importantly, I don’t want to use one with her either.
Even the thinnest veil should exist between us.
My cock wants to feel her silky inner walls.
I kiss her hungrily, and her lips are fire under mine, the kiss deep, ravenous, a clash of tongues and teeth that drowns the world.
Lauren’s hands are everywhere, frantic, clawing at my jacket, the fabric catching as she yanks it off, buttons straining, popping free.
I’m just as desperate, tearing at my shirt, the buttons ripping under my rough treatment.
The desire is so fierce it’s a pulse in my blood.
Her fingers go at my belt, tugging, the leather resisting, then giving way with a sharp snap.
My trousers slide down, and my briefs are quicker to follow.
I kick free of them and stand before her naked, and my cock hard and throbbing.
“Good God! Google was right,” she breathes mysteriously, as her hand reaches for me.
Her touch is electric, her fingers wrapping around me, stroking once, twice, and I groan, low and guttural, the heat of her palm nearly undoing me right there.
She’s sprawled beneath me, thighs parted, her skin flushed.
Her eyes are dark, wild, urging me on, and I feel the beast clawing at my spine.
I grab myself and guide my cock to her. I let the thick head brush her entrance, slick, warm, a tease that makes us both shudder.
I stroke her there, slow and deliberate, dragging the tip along her folds, coating myself in her wetness.
Her hips tilting, inviting me to enter. I watch mesmerized as she opens her glistening sex for me.
The offer is at once decadent and primal.
No one who looks so innocent should do something like that. And yet it is unbearably perfect.
It’s exquisite torture when I circle her clit with the head, teasing, feeling her twitch, her breath hitching, and it is pure torture. My cock is throbbing painfully, screaming to be inside her.
“Don’t make me wait anymore, Hugh,” she gasps, and the plea breaks my restraint.
I enter her slowly. Her heat is tight, gripping and pulling me in inch by agonizing inch.
The sensation’s overwhelming—a hot slick vice that squeezes.
I’m shaking, my breath ragged, every nerve alight.
Her tight walls stretch and pulse around me.
Buried deep, I pause and savor the sensation, the way she molds to me.
Then I pull back, almost out, before slamming in again, deeper, much deeper.
I feel her clench with the unexpected movement and hear her gasp of surprise.
Gripping her hips, I fill her sex with my cock, long, brutal thrusts. One for every time she looked at me as if I were dirt beneath her shoe. Each one is a pulse, a claim, her moans growing wilder, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.
The sofa groans under us, springs creaking as I quicken, my rhythm harder, deeper, driven by her cries. Her nails rake my back, leaving trails of fire. Perhaps she is punishing me too. I’m lost in the heat, the friction, her tightness is a vice I can’t escape, and I don’t want to.
I angle deeper, hitting that spot that makes her arch desperately, her hips urging mine to take what it wants.
Our mating is frantic, greedy, our bodies a clash of need.
Her cries echo, my name becomes a chant on her lips, and it’s fuel, pushing me to the edge.
I ram into her, relentless, the head of my cock merciless.
The decadence of it—her wetness, her heat, her surrender—consuming me.
I fuck her like I will lose my mind if I ever stop, and she rocks her hips forward just as frenziedly to meet mine. Her cries sharpen, jagged and desperate, echoing off the bare walls as I thrust deeper, my cock buried in her heat, her tightness a relentless grip that pulls me to the edge.
She’s close, her body tensing, clenching, and I’m right there with her, my balls tight, the pressure blinding, but I hold on, savoring her unraveling. As her climax rises, her breaths come in gasps, her body becomes tight as an arch, and her thighs tremble against my sides.
Finally, she breaks, a keen, animal-like sound tearing from her throat, her release a shuddering surge, her sex clenching around me, hot and relentless, each pulse milking me, drawing me impossibly deeper.
The sensations are too much… it shatters my hold on my own control, and my own release roars through me.
It’s like a molten rush that blinds me and leaves my cock pulsing as I spill into her, thrust after thrust. Her name is a guttural growl ripped from my chest as my vision dissolves into white-hot static.
I collapse onto my elbows. Our gasping breaths are tangled.
Her heartbeat is racing under my chest. Her body is as soft and pliant as chocolate on a hot day.
I would have lain with her, but the sofa is brutal.
Its springs must be biting into her. I find myself with an uncomfortable feeling of being fiercely protective, of not wanting her to ache even for a while.
I summon what strength I have left and lift her up.
Her arms are loose around my neck, her breath warm against my shoulder as I carry her in search of her bedroom.
The chaos is even worse upstairs—building materials fighting for space with junk, paint cans stacked like silent watchers.
Her renovation is a dream that she’s chasing alone, and I cannot help but feel the first stirrings of real sympathy for her in my heart.
Worry gnaws at me, telling me that she’s carrying too much, and it’s not right.
I head up the stairs to find her bedroom.
Of course, it’s a single bed. I lay her down on the white duvet and gaze down at her.
Her skin is still flushed and glowing, and her eyes are soft, pulling at me, a siren’s call I have to fight to resist. I want to climb into that narrow bed, to hold her and drown in her until the world fades, but this I am sure will be too much.
It is clear now that I have an uncharted side, and I’m not sure I want to let it loose right now.
Her taste, her heat, is still burning in my veins.
I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her skin is warm with a faint salt tang.
“Sleep well,” I murmur.
She smiles sleepily and closes her eyes. I force myself to turn away. After gathering my clothes and getting them back on, I slip out. The door clicks behind me as I step into the night, but her touch and the thought of her under me remain burning inside of me like a fire I can’t quench.