“Baby, you’re definitely going to have rug burn, but I’ll rub cream on it for you.”
He’s over me now and it feels familiar. Right. Not at all strange or self-conscious like I’ve felt with previous partners, partners I’d known longer before climbing into bed with them.
Or—spreading my legs on the living room floor.
Hard as a rock, Phillip mimics my earlier movements, sliding his hand between my legs, stroking. Finger expertly finding that nub, circling it. Pressing down, hitting that spot only I’ve been able to find.
One hand on my clit, the other resting on the floor, supporting him while he lavishes my body with kisses. Sucking on my nipples then blowing. I’m so hot, so burning hot.
On f-f-fire.
My hands bury themselves in his hair while he sucks on my breasts, driving me crazier with every heartbeat, learning the quickness of my breath and silent communication, the same way I will do with him.
Finally, finally he’s hovering above me in a play that’s as old as time. Kissing my mouth as he lines himself up, we make out like two teenagers hiding in the basement after prom so they’re not discovered. It feels naughty and somewhat sinful to be banging on my living room floor, and I wonder if I’ll sit on the couch tonight staring at this spot where my ass is reliving this encounter.
Probably.
Sex in the bedroom would be better—or sex on the table—but I’ll have to settle for rug burn during this spur-of-the-moment sexcapade.
Phillip’s dick is average and eases in slowly, no theatrics or ill-fitting shafts to ruin the moment—whoever said bigger is better hasn’t met Joe Average. Watching his face is glorious; the range of emotions that pass over it. Euphoria. Rapture. Pleasure.
That sharp intake of breath as he slides in as deep as he can go.
He’s not the only one gasping; my breath is labored from the very start, my head tipped back against the floor as he begins rotating his hips, pressing into my pelvis with his.
Deeper.
More. “More.”
I’m not usually a talker, but I have faith in this budding new relationship. Miranda is going to die when I tell her how Phillip showed up at my door with a cake, got down on one knee, and proposed. She. Will. Die.
Just like I’m going to die if he doesn’t go harder.
“Yeah, like that,” I encourage, lifting my hips off the rug so his dick hits me where I want it most.
“You like that?” He moans, voice dipping low into my ear, through my cerebellum, straight to my pussy. Huge turn-on. Huge lady boner. “You’re so tight.”
If I were a peacock—and if I weren’t being thoroughly fucked—I’d parade back and forth in the room, showing off, the compliment spurring me on. Filling me with pride.
I have a tight pussy?
Best compliment ever.
It makes me feel as if I’ve never had previous sexual partners and Phillip is the only one—because he is. He’s the only one who matters, anyway.
He thrusts. I push on his ass, drawing him in closer. Boobs and chest pressed together, sweat touching skin. Breath. Chest hair. Fingers stroking in tandem. Need, want, desperation.
We dirty-talk the shit out of each other until the nerves inside my P give the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. It excites me knowing it’s coming—and, desperate for it, I spread my legs wider. Hands grip Phillip’s ass firmly.
“Oh shit…” he groans. “Oh f-fuck…”
Yes, yes.
“Come inside me, baby,” I urge, egging him on, not wanting him to pull out. If he pulls out, I won’t come. Or, I will, but it won’t be the same, then I’ll probably whine from post-orgasm letdown. That moment you orgasm but it’s ruined? Knowing it could have felt fantastic but didn’t?
God, what am I saying?
“Are you sure?”
Bad, bad girl, living on the edge.
“Yes, fuck yes, I’m coming too.” Oh God, I can feel it, I can feel it, I can feel it.
“The mouth on you,” are the last words he says before I feel him come, throbbing. Pulsing. Warm and wet.
We breathe heavy, Phillip falling onto me—I plant my hands against his chest to prevent him from crushing me.
“That was amazing,” he murmurs into my shoulder.
It was.
20
Phillip
“I’m going to miss you at work.” Spencer pushes out her bottom lip as I trace a finger down her sternum, all the way to her belly button. Move it down between our bodies, to her smooth happy trail that flirts with the neatly trimmed patch between her thighs. “You’re so annoying, yet so entertaining.”