Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,23

that dirty mouth I can’t get enough of. I pull and scratch at her tits, urging her to slam herself against my cock, desperate to fuck her as deeply as she can go, unable to hold back.

I let her fall forward, her face pressing into the pillow as she moans, steadying myself to fuck her harder.

“Shit,” I say, as I press her head into the pillow, working all the muscles in my ass to ram her as sweetly as a pussy like hers deserves. “I want all of that pussy, Gemma. Every fucking inch of it.”

She whimpers and groans with pleasure, biting the pillow as I make my thrusts long and slow, letting the head of my cock work her walls a little before sticking it deeper inside of her. I close my eyes, unable to hold back anymore. I smack her ass, grabbing and pulling at it hard, urging her to come along with me, to let go before I do.

“Come for me, Gemma,” I urge her. “No holding back.” I feel her tense for a split second and I know she can’t fight it anymore. “That’s it. Good girl.”

She comes long, hard, and slow, her screams muffled by the pillow, her back arching and flicking with each wave of essence that flows out of her. I let go a second later, clutching the tied hands behind her back and squeezing myself deep into her, her pulsating pussy pulling every last drop of cum from me.

I pull out and stand up as her body buries itself into the wrinkles of her sheets. After taking the condom off and tossing it into a wastebasket I drop my body heavily next to hers, gazing at the lines in her back, at the red mark where I smacked her ass, the suck marks I’ve left on her. I run a now-cool hand up her thigh gently, along her side and then down her arm, where I undo the belt and toss it away. She turns her head to face me, her eyes reflective and silver, like the ocean after a storm, before bringing her face towards mine slowly, and giving her lips a deep, slow kiss.

Chapter 8

Gemma

It’s been a long time since I sang to myself, but as I lay out some bacon and eggs to fry up, I can’t help myself. I feel like I lost ten pounds, solved all my neuroses, and won the lottery in one night – actually, I may have just done all of those things. I giggle at my own silliness as I turn on the stove and put a pan on it, swaying gently to the aimless tune I’m humming to myself.

I look over the counter towards the bed. Dylan’s been purring happily and lolling about in bed since I got up about fifteen minutes ago, and I’ve been making the most of getting up first by sneaking looks at his gorgeous body – pacing myself so that I don’t get too excited.

Except Dylan’s not in bed anymore. The smile I didn’t even know I was wearing drops, and a pair of hands cover my eyes. I scream. Dylan laughs.

“Shit, Dylan! You scared the fuck out of me!” I whirl around and punch him playfully in the stomach, but my fist just bounces off his abs.

“I was going to say ‘guess who,’ but I suppose you already have,” he says in an Irish accent as thick and as heady as their whiskey.

I takes my shoulders and he’s so close I have to place my hands on his chest to steady myself.

“It’s not hard. You’re the only guy I’ve had back to this apartment.”

“You sure?” he says, moving his head close to my neck, smelling me. “’Cause I feel like a different man after last night.”

“Well don’t change too much,” I say, my head leaning forward and nuzzling his shoulder. “I was just starting to like you.”

I squeal again as Dylan lifts me up easily, his hands on the backs of my thighs, and settles me on the edge of the counter.

“Dylan…” I say, as he slowly unbuttons my loose-fitting shirt, kissing softly at the spaces between my breasts that he’s slowly exposing, one button at a time. “Dylan…Dylan! I have to make breakfast! And then we have to get to work.”

His kisses flutter and nip around my breasts, arousingly close but unbearably far from my hardening nipples. There’s a fuzziness to his kisses, a sleepy, dull warmth that makes me feel like I’m slipping into