The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,116

cock in her hand, pumping the length as she struggles to wrap her soft palm all the way around it. Bringing her mouth to the tip, she swallows as much as she can fit, her tongue circling the tip before swirling just beneath the head.

Maritza takes her time. She doesn’t rush like some girls do.

She enjoys it, moaning and pausing every so often to glance up at me, coyly wipe the side of her mouth, and let me take in the view as she swallows my pre-cum and goes back for more.

Gathering her silky hair in my fist, I guide my cock deeper into her mouth until I feel a tight swell that takes everything in my power to ignore.

“Your turn,” I say, lowering myself between her thighs as she spreads her legs, hooking them over my shoulders.

Dragging a finger along the seam of her wet pussy, I tease her clit and her tight, sweet hole before letting my tongue take over. Circling her swollen clit and devouring her sweetness, my cock throbs each time she moans and sighs and wriggles against me.

When she’s had enough, she reaches for me, pulling me over top of her and kissing her taste off my lips.

Grabbing the gold foil packet on the sofa cushion beside us, I sheathe my cock before slipping my fingers between her silken folds and massaging her clit.

“On your knees,” I tell her, guiding her before positioning myself behind her perfect apricot ass.

Dragging the tip of my cock along her slick seam, I tease her before impaling her with one hard push. She gasps and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her body against mine as my hips thrust harder, faster, finding the perfect rhythm.

Cupping her breasts and filling her to the hilt, I squeeze my eyes and lose myself in the moment, appreciating the way her body molds to mine and relents to my every wordless command. It’s like we’re finally speaking the same language, even if that language consists of breathless gasps and whispered compliments in the form of sacrilegious profanities.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her arms reaching behind her and cupping fistfuls of my hair.

Brushing her dark hair aside, I kiss the side of her neck. “I won’t.”

I can go all fucking night long.

My phone vibrates, pulling me out of my sex-induced coma. Maritza’s naked body rests on top of mine and the living room is still dark, though the slightest hint of pre-dawn peeks through the blinds.

Moving her gently to the side, I slide out from under her and cover her up with the blanket we shared the past several hours. Stepping into my jeans, I tug on the zipper while scanning the room for my shirt.

“What time is it?” Maritza’s groggy voice cuts through the silence. “Why are you up right now?”

“I have to go,” I say. I place an apologetic tone in my voice, but it’s genuine. Sex with Maritza was good last night. Really fucking good. So good that I’d be willing to break my one-and-done rule and go for round two, but Mom needs her morning meds and her coffee, and if I stay too long Maritza might offer to cook me breakfast and I don’t want to do that whole awkward, morning-after-sex routine. I’ve done enough of those to last me a lifetime.

“You’re deploying next week, right?” She sits up, brushing her dark hair out of her pretty face.

“Yep.”

“What are you doing until then?” she asks.

I locate my t-shirt hanging off the back of an armchair and tug it over my head, trying to buy time so I can think of the best way to imply that this is the end of the road for us.

“We should hang out.” She sits up, leaning over to click on a lamp, illuminating the living room with gentle light before lifting her palm. “And before you go jumping to conclusions, I don’t mean we should hang out like that. Or because of what we did last night. I just mean … I had fun with you. And you should have fun before you leave. We could do, like … I don’t know … a week of Saturdays or something.”

“A week of Saturdays?”

“Yeah. A week where we treat every day like it’s a Saturday and we pal around the city and do fun, stupid stuff,” she says. “Not dates. Nothing romantic. Just a couple of … dare I say … friends.”

I smirk, adjusting my shirt into place. “I don’t know.”

It’s hard enough to be