15. Elyse #3
My response seems to flip something in him.
He pulls almost the whole way out and slams back in, still gripping one of my hips as his thumb drags over me in firm circles.
I rub my nipples feverishly between my fingers as he does.
He’s going for it, thrusting into me over and over like he has zero fucks left to give about anything that isn’t shooting his load.
As he does, our eyes stay locked on each other.
His hair is now totally messed up and falling everywhere, his face is contorted with the effort of holding himself off, and his abs and pecs flex gloriously with every thrust. I love his tan skin.
I love the soft, manly dusting of dark hair across his chest. He really is a sight for sore eyes.
I’m not even self-conscious anymore about how I look touching myself, about what he thinks. Like him, I’m chasing one thing and one thing only. So when he grits out, “I will take this sight to my fucking grave,” it’s like he’s burying me in diamonds and has thrown one more on top of the pile.
His thumb drags over me so hard it’s painful, and his dick is battering my internal walls, my fingers on my nipples completing this celestial circuit. I’m sweating, writhing, meeting him as best I can every time he slams into me.
“I’m gonna—” I choke out, and then this chair really does turn into an ejector seat. My orgasm crests and reality explodes into nothingness as I shatter, body and soul.
“Oh, thank fuck,” I hear through the ringing in my ears, and then he’s fucking me through my orgasm with jagged, disorderly thrusts that milk me and milk me as my body convulses for him and around him.
With a roar, he comes, shunting and shunting as my hands drop from my breasts and I sink into a human pool of what feels like warm molasses.
He lets out a long, shuddering gasp before sagging forward until his face hits my shoulder. With whatever tiny traces of energy I have left, I sink my fingers into his thick hair. His breath is warm on my shoulder. He kisses it. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters against my skin, and I laugh a little.
“Right?”
With seeming difficulty, he raises his head and kisses me. We linger here for a moment, our tongues swirling lazily against each other.
“Give me a sec,” he says, straightening up. As he removes and ties off the condom, he shakes his head at me, amused. “That was fucking insane.”
I smile at him.
Turning, he drops the condom in the trash before ripping off the Velcro and gently lifting one leg out of its stirrup with a firm grip around my ankle. He does the same with the other, and I wince.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. A little stiff.” Understatement. My hip flexors are stiff as fuck. I might need to borrow Sylvie’s wheelchair tomorrow due to sex-related arthritis.
“Take it slowly,” he says, sliding both arms around my back and hoisting me up.
When I’m upright—and wincing again at my swollen pussy—he picks me up with his hands under my ass.
I wrap my legs and arms around him like a sex-drunk chimpanzee and allow him to walk me over to the bed, reveling in the deliciousness of having my skin plastered to his, of the soft brush of his chest hair against my stomach.
He lays me down and comes to lie beside me, tugging me against him so we’re chest to chest again. “Seriously, you doing okay?” he asks.
“I’m doin’ a lot better than okay.” I think I mumble it. I’m struggling to form words.
“You did great. That was a lot.” He’s running his fingertips up and down my spine, and it’s delicious.
There is an extremely high chance I will pass out in the next thirty seconds.
I need to splash some cold water on my face, quick.
I do not need him throwing a strong, warm, hairy leg over mine like he’s doing, because that will have me going under even sooner. “How do you get home?” he asks me.
“PATH,” I mumble. “Light railway.” It’s not like I’m disclosing private information. I already had to share my legal address when I signed the NDA.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says in my ear, his hand moving lower and smoothing over my ass. “My driver will take you home.”
I try to sit up, horrified. “No way. You paid me enough money already.”
A warm chuckle against my ear. “Elyse, that’s fucking irrelevant. No way on earth am I letting you get public transport in this state. I know I may not have acted like it tonight, but I am actually a gentleman.”
I give a little snort at that, because my filter has vacated the room. But also: that’s really nice.
“I’ll just call an Uber,” I lie.
“No way. I won’t be happy unless I know you’ve been delivered to your door by someone I trust. End of discussion.”
I sigh. “Okay,” I say, mainly because I’m too exhausted to argue, and the concept of walking to the station right now feels physically impossible. I yawn against his very nice shoulder. “If you’re sure your driver won’t mind? That’s super kind of you, thank you.”
“He won’t mind. This is an early night for him.” His hand smooths over my ass one more time. “And for your information, these past two times with you have been the best money I’ve ever, ever spent.”