Chapter 3 #4
The muscles of my sex clenched, and I felt it as a little more of my arousal leaked out of me, slowly sliding down my seam.
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, curled my fingers around the sheets beneath me, and spread my knees wider, as wide as I could get them.
I felt ravenous, the wild in me begging to be released.
I was so turned on, a cool breeze could have made me come.
After what might have been two seconds, even though it felt more like five minutes, Pistol made his way toward me and slowly sank to his knees, eyeing my center all the while.
I watched as he carefully lifted the drenched fabric of my thong, shifting it out of his way, a slow smile pulling at the corners of his mustache.
He looked up at me through his lashes—lazily, languidly—like he was in no hurry, and drawled, “It’s been three years since I’ve had lips around my cock. Came hard and fast on account o’you. But this pussy’s practically weepin’ from neglect—fuckin’ beggin’ for me, babe. What’s your excuse?”
It was futile to feign nonchalance, but I shrugged anyway, trying to play it cool.
The truth was, I had been neglected.
Sure, I’d managed to find pleasure a few times since I moved home, but nothing that came close to the likes of him.
I hadn’t known a Stallion in as long as he hadn’t known a woman.
Man, how I wanted this one.
“You’re hot. Besides, foreplay started hours ago,” I managed to say, sounding only a little breathy.
His slow smile turned into a cocky one, and then—finally—he descended for a taste.
The walls of my core fluttered the instant he flattened his tongue against me, licking his way from just above my ass all the way to my clit.
When he hummed, I felt the vibration of the sound before he repeated the act.
On his third pass, he thrust his tongue inside of me, and I could no longer hold my head up in order to watch.
“Oh, yes,” I moaned.
He responded with a grunt, shoving a finger inside of me as he sucked my clit into his mouth.
Freeing another moan, I laid fully on my back, so I was free to move my hands.
I dove my fingers into his curly, blond locks—only marginally aware of how thick and silky the strands were—too busy succumbing to the sorcery of this man’s tongue.
He added another finger, sucking me harder, all the while flicking his tongue back and forth across my bundle of nerves until I detonated.
“Yes!” I cried, arching my back off the bed as I thrust my hips forward—the movements of my body seemingly out of my control.
Even as I quaked from my release, he wouldn’t let up. Extracting his fingers, he drank from me until he was satisfied and I nothing more than a quivering mess.
Fuck me, but it was amazing.
“Hands and knees,” he demanded when he had his fill.
I was so lost in my euphoric haze, I didn’t move, other than to let my hands slip away from his hair as he stood to his feet. It wasn’t until he spoke again that I began to register his movements.
“Said it before, babe. I like what I taste, I’ll take more. We’re not done.” He paused long enough to rip the condom open with his teeth. When he was finished and I still hadn’t moved, he quirked an eyebrow at me and semi-repeated, “Hands and knees, birthday girl. Now.”
Birthday girl.
He remembered it was my birthday.
It was stupid. It was so totally stupid, but it made me smile.
Without further prompting, I maneuvered myself onto my belly before positioning myself as he requested, peeking back at him from over my shoulder when I was in place.
I had only enough time to notice his cock was sheathed and his pants were shoved down around his knees—then my attention shot up to his face on a gasp when I heard the snap that was the sound of him ripping the waistband of my thong.
The sound repeated itself when he made easy work of the opposite side, and then the useless scrap of fabric was tossed over his shoulder.
The uncaring, unrestrained, animalistic act sent a new pang of hunger right through me, and I hoped with every fiber of my being he was about to take me for a ride.
Oh, how I wanted him. All of him.
Stretching my arms out in front of me, I lowered my chest to the bed, keeping my ass up, silently inviting him to take all I had to offer.
He understood.
Or perhaps he was as blinded by desire as I was, intent only on taking what he craved.
He grabbed hold of my cheeks, spread me open and warned, “Plan on fuckin’ you good and hard. I lose my shit in this pussy, take you too rough, you say so. Not a dick, babe, but I will take what I want. You hearin’ me?”
Arching my back in an effort to expose myself that much more, I looked back at him, my blue eyes connected with his green ones as I replied, “Take me for a ride, Stallion.”
It was the last coherent thing I said.
I barely had the chance to pull in my next breath before he was inside of me.
He was not gentle.
Neither was he slow.
Hard.
Fast.
Hot.
So hot, I could hardly catch my breath.
Then, just like that, I was coming undone.
But even as my orgasm tore through me, sending a rush of tingles up my spine until pleasure tickled my scalp, he kept at me.
Hot.
Fast.
Hard.
So hard, I was sure I’d feel him into next week.
And then he was bent over me, his breath warm against my ear as he muttered dirty things to me, remarkably—confoundingly—turning me on that much more.
But even as I mewled and gasped, my slick center amplifying the soundtrack of my pleasure, he didn’t relent.
Fast.
Hard.
Hot.
So fucking hot, I thought I might come again.
Three orgasms.
Not one of them fake.
“Oh, yes!” I whimpered. “Fuck, yes—fuck me, fuck me,” I begged, my grip around the sheets so tight I’d bet all the stars in the sky my knuckles were white.
“You like it rough and wild,” he grunted in my ear. “You gonna come again for me, baby?”
The noise I made in response was unintelligible, but I knew he didn’t mind.
I knew because he shoved an arm underneath me, felt his way between my legs, instantly made contact with my clit and muttered, “Hell, yeah, you’re comin’ again for me. Bring it home, babe.”
And then I was coming.
Hard.
Long.
Wet.
But what made it even better were the sounds he hummed when he lost his rhythm, ramming into me balls deep as he stilled, filling the condom.
When he was finished, he rocked his hips lazily.
Once.
Twice.
He then slid out of me slowly, grabbed hold of my hips, and flipped me until I was on my back.
His hands planted on either side of my head, he lowered himself, bringing the tip of his nose down to graze mine; and with his eyes staring straight at me he muttered, “Give me a few. We’re doin’ that again.
And next time, I want you in your birthday suit. Hear me?”
I could hardly move as I worked to catch my breath.
But I conjured up the energy to offer him a nod.
I did this smiling.
Because I heard him.
Loud and clear.
Then, finally, he kissed me.
Wet.
Long.
Hard.
And, holy hell, was it perfect.
Happy birthday to me.