Take Me Off the App Virgin, Age Gap, Explicit #2
He started the car.
Grant’s apartment smelled like clean laundry and new paint. One lamp on in the living room. A couch that still had the store-stiff look of furniture bought after a split. Tessa did not ask for the tour. She did not take the glass he started to offer.
She put his back against the door they had just closed and kissed him like the lot had only been a draft.
Grant’s keys hit the floor. His hands hovered a second too long at her waist, then settled when she dragged them down to her ass and pressed his palms there herself.
“That is where they go,” she said against his mouth. “You do not have to invent the next move. I will put you where I want you.”
“Tessa.”
“I know my name. Kiss me and use your hands.”
He did. The kiss at the door was hungrier than the one in the lot, his stubble burning her chin, his body a solid heat from her chest to her thighs.
She felt his cock harden against her stomach through his jeans and rolled her hips into it on purpose.
He cursed into her mouth. She smiled against his teeth.
She pulled him to the couch by his belt loop.
Sat. Tugged him down with her. Clothes still on.
The couch hissed under their weight. Tessa stripped her top off before he could make a project of it and threw it at the coffee table.
Black bra, cheap, a little lopsided from the night.
She popped the clasp herself and let it fall.
“Mouth,” she said. “On my tits. I have been thinking about that since the bar.”
Grant looked at her for a beat, 36 year old caution flickering, then he bent.
His mouth was hot. He took her nipple like he meant it, flat tongue then a pull that made her spine arch off the cushion.
She grabbed the back of his head and held him there.
The wet sound of him sucking filled the quiet apartment.
He switched sides when she shoved him. Her other nipple pebbled in the cool air, shining with his spit.
He closed his fingers around the breast his mouth had left and squeezed until she hissed.
“Harder,” she said. “I am not going to break.”
He gave her harder. Teeth just enough to sting. She felt it between her legs, a slick pulse against denim. She took his wrist and shoved his hand down the front of her jeans.
“Under. Not over.”
Grant popped the button, dragged the zipper, and slid his hand into her panties. His fingers found her immediately. She was soaked. The first pass through her folds made her hips kick. He groaned like the wetness had answered a question he had been too polite to ask.
“Christ. You are—”
“I have been like that since I sat down at the high-top. Do not compliment it. Use it.”
He pushed two fingers into her pussy. The stretch was new enough to steal her breath and not enough to scare her. She was tight. She knew she was tight. His fingers were thick and careful until she rolled down onto them and took the rest.
“In. Curl. On my clit with your thumb. I already know how I cum. I am showing you.”
He listened. That was the thing that made her dizzy, more than the fingers: a 36 year old man on his own couch doing exactly what a 21 year old told him.
He fucked her with his hand, palm wet, thumb circling her clit in a messy rhythm she corrected once with a push of her own fingers over his.
The smell of her cunt rose between them.
Her jeans trapped his wrist. The lamp made her tits look pale and dirty where his mouth had been.
Tessa came on his hand with her forehead against his.
It hit fast because she had been wound since Mercer.
Her pussy clenched around his fingers in hard pulls.
She made a broken sound she did not swallow and soaked his knuckles.
He kept his thumb moving until she grabbed his wrist and stopped him, oversensitive, laughing once under her breath because the laugh was better than going shy.
“Good,” she said. “That is one.”
Grant eased his hand out of her jeans. His fingers shone. She caught his wrist and put them in her own mouth, tasting herself, watching his eyes go dark. Then she went for his belt.
Leather. Button. Zipper. She was not graceful. She did not try to be. She dragged his jeans and briefs down far enough to get him out and sat back to look.
His cock was thick, flushed, already wet at the head.
Bigger than she had made with her imagination in bed.
She wrapped her hand around him and her fingers almost met.
Heat jumped into her palm. He jerked once and then locked still, jaw tight, the divorced man who had written patient holding onto it by his teeth.
She stroked him. Slow. Watching. The skin was silk over a hard core. A bead of precum welled and she smeared it with her thumb, curious, greedy. Grant’s head dropped back against the couch. A vein stood out in his throat.
“Tessa. If you keep doing that—”
“You are not going to cum in my hand. I do not want that yet.” She squeezed him once, possessive, and looked up. “I want this in my mouth before you put it in my pussy. I want to know what it feels like on my tongue. Then I want you to lay me down.”
Grant’s voice came out rough.
“You put my fingers where you wanted them. You put my mouth where you wanted it. Now you want my cock in your throat on a couch I bought in a hurry after a divorce.”
“Yes.” She leaned in until her breath hit the wet head. “Stop describing it. Let me suck it.”
She opened her mouth and waited for him to watch her take the first inch.
Tessa took him into her mouth the way she did everything else that night: before he could turn it into a discussion.
The head of Grant’s cock was hot and smooth on her tongue, salt already gathered at the slit.
She sealed her lips under the ridge and sucked, curious, greedy, her hand wrapped around what she could not fit.
He was thicker than she had expected to handle.
Her jaw stretched. She did not pull off.
She wanted the ache. She wanted the proof.
Grant’s hand hovered at her hair and did not push. “You do not have to—”
She pulled off just far enough to speak against the wet skin. “I want to. Watch me.”
She went back down. Sloppy on purpose. Spit ran along her fist.
The smell of him filled her head, clean skin and the sharper musk of a man who had been hard since the lot.
She gagged when she tried for more and laughed through it, a bright wrecked sound, then tried again.
His thigh jumped under her other hand. He cursed at the ceiling and still did not thrust.
She only stopped because she wanted the next thing more.
Tessa shoved her jeans and panties down, kicked them off, and climbed into his lap facing away from him.
Reverse. She was naked from the waist down, 21 year old ass in a 36 year old man’s lap, his cock standing shiny against her.
She reached between her legs, laid that thick shaft along her pussy, and dragged herself over it.
She was soaked from his fingers. The slide was filthy. Her clit rode the underside of his cock on every pass. Grant grabbed her hips and did not pull her down onto him. He let her use him like that, a wet smear coating his length, her breath going ragged.
“That is not in you,” he said against her shoulder, voice wrecked.
“I know. I want to feel how big it is on the outside before I take it.” She rocked again, slower, watching the dark head of him appear between her thighs and disappear. “Now lay me down. Lights on. I want to see it go in.”
He moved her like she weighed nothing. The couch was too narrow.
He took her to the rug and grabbed a throw pillow, shoved it under her hips without asking if the angle was all right, because she had already told him she wanted to watch.
The lamp did the rest. She saw everything: her own wet cunt, flushed and open from his fingers, and his cock poised there, thicker than her hole looked ready for.
Grant braced over her. “Last time I ask this way. Yes.”
“Yes. Put it in me. Slow. Do not stop unless I say stop.”
He pushed.
The head stretched her and kept stretching.
Tessa’s mouth fell open. Her hands found his arms.
It burned in a bright, specific line, not a surprise so much as a fact arriving in her body.
She watched, because she had demanded the lights: the way her pussy had to widen around him, the wet shine where they joined, the inch he gave her and the inch he held back.
“Fuck. That is—wait. Okay. More.”
He gave her more. Sweat at his temple. Jaw locked.
Patient like the profile, and shaking with it.
She was tight enough that every increment felt like a decision.
The smell of her own arousal mixed with the wool of the rug.
She could hear how wet she was, a soft filthy sound as he worked himself deeper.
“Look at me,” she said. “I want your face too.”
Grant looked at her. Whatever caution he had walked in with was still there, buried under heat.
He slid the rest of the way in on a long breath and seated himself against her.
Tessa’s eyes stung. She was full. Completely.
His cock twitched inside her virgin pussy and she felt the pulse of it in her belly.
“That is all of it,” he said.
“Stay. I need a second. Then I want you to move.”
He stayed. She breathed through the occupancy until the burn dulled into a heavy, edible ache. Then she nodded.
He fucked her slow. Long strokes that let her watch the shaft leave her and push back in, glossy with her.
The pillow tipped her hips so he dragged along a place that made her gasp every time.
She hooked one heel around his thigh. Her tits shook.
She did not close her eyes. She had waited too long to miss the picture.
“Harder,” she said. “I can take harder. I want to cum on it.”
Grant gave her harder without turning it mean.
The wet slap of his body meeting hers filled the new apartment.
Tessa shoved up to meet him, greedy, a sound punching out of her on every thrust.
The stretch fed her clit from the inside.
She reached down and rubbed herself, two fingers on the swollen nub, no shame about doing it herself while he was in her.
She came with his cock buried deep.
Her pussy clamped down on him in tight, shocked pulls. She cried out and kept her eyes open through it, watching his face twist with the effort of not following her over. He held, shaking, 36 year old patience turned into something raw. He did not spill.