2 #2
Her mouth finds me again, and she takes me deep with a sound that's half-moan, half-growl, and holds me in her throat for a three-count before pulling back.
"Besides, I'm about done with this part. I'm definitely wet enough to take you now."
She gives the head one more slow, swirling lick — the tip of her tongue circling the ridge, dipping into the slit, tracing the frenulum with a precision that makes my abs clench — and sits back on her heels.
Her lips are swollen and her chin is wet and her dark hair is wrecked across her face.
Her chest rises and falls under the thin fabric of the sundress, and her nipples are hard enough to press visible circles against the green.
"You're going to breed your roommate's fuck buddy," she says. Not a question. A statement of fact, delivered from her knees. "Right here on this couch."
"Get up here."
She stands, and I pull her into me before she can start undressing herself.
My mouth finds hers and the kiss is hard, graceless, all heat and no tenderness, and she tastes like me — salt and musk and the faint bitterness of pre-cum underneath the sweetness of whatever she was drinking before she got here.
She groans into my mouth and her hands come up to the sides of my face, holding me against her while her tongue pushes past my teeth.
I bite her lower lip and she whimpers, a high, thin sound that vibrates against my mouth, and then she pulls back, breathing hard.
"Take this off me," she says, grabbing the hem of her sundress.
I pull it over her head in one motion. She's not wearing anything under it.
I already knew about the bra, but the rest confirms what the dress only suggested — Nikki naked is Nikki with the volume turned all the way up.
Her waist is small and her hips are wide and her ass, Jesus Christ, her ass is absurd, round and full and heavy enough to shift when she moves, pale flesh that catches the lamplight and makes shadows in places that don't exist on other women.
Her thighs are thick and pale and her skin shows everything, every flush, every mark, every place where blood runs close to the surface.
A neat strip of dark hair sits between her legs, trimmed but present, and she's wet enough that I can see it, the light catching the slick that's already gathered along her inner thighs, glistening where her legs come together.
"You haven't seen my pussy before, have you?" She stands in front of me, naked and unconcerned about it, and she says it like she just remembered an oversight. "I feel like we're already so close, I totally forgot you haven't seen the whole package."
She sits on the couch next to where I'm sitting and spreads her legs, one foot up on the cushion, and everything opens for me — pink and wet and swollen, her clit visible at the top, her arousal obvious and unapologetic.
The smell of her hits me, warm and musky and sharp with want, and it fills the space between us with something primal that my hindbrain responds to before my conscious mind catches up.
She reaches down and touches herself, one finger tracing her slit, and the sound it makes is obscene, a slick wet click that I can hear over my own breathing.
"Touch it."
I reach over and replace her hand with mine, two fingers sliding along her folds, and she's soaked — warm and slick and impossibly ready, the wetness coating my fingers in a single stroke.
She inhales sharply when I graze her clit, her hips twitching up against my hand, and the sound she makes is small and involuntary and real.
I slide lower and push two fingers inside her, and her pussy grips me immediately, tight, hot, clenching around the intrusion with a rhythmic pulse.
She's swollen inside, every surface slick and sensitive, and when I curl my fingers forward she sucks air through her teeth and her thighs tremble against the cushion.
"Oh, fuck — just like — right there." Her hand covers mine, pressing my fingers deeper, and she grinds against my palm. "Okay, stop, stop — if you keep doing that, I'm going to come before you're even inside me."
"Would that be a problem?"
"Yes, because I want to come on your cock, not your hand."
She grabs my wrist and pulls my fingers out of her, and the loss of contact makes her wince.
She lifts my hand to her mouth and sucks my fingers clean, her tongue working between them, tasting herself with the casual obscenity of someone who considers this normal foreplay.
"It's gonna look even cuter with your cum leaking out of it."
She shifts her position, scooting to the center of the couch and lying back against the armrest, spreading her legs wide. "Come on. I've done enough waiting. This pussy needs to be bred."
I stand and push my jeans the rest of the way off, kick them aside, pull my shirt over my head. She watches me undress with the focus of someone watching a countdown, her hand idly rubbing between her legs, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"Put it where it belongs," she says. "Unless you want to risk your roommate walking in and getting there first."
I move between her legs and she hooks them over my shoulders without being asked, her ankles crossing behind my head, and the position opens her up completely — hips tilted, pussy angled, everything exposed and offered.
I line up against her entrance and she's so wet the head slides through her folds before I find the right angle, the friction dragging across her clit and making her gasp.
I adjust, notch the head against her opening, and feel the heat of her radiating against the tip, a liquid warmth that promises everything her mouth already delivered.
I push in, and the world narrows.