Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,26

grazing my ear.

“I can stop,” he says, pulsing his finger gently inside my ass, making me shudder and clench against his rock hard cock that’s still buried in my pussy. “Just tell me what you want.”

I take a breath. I don’t even need to think about it: I know exactly what I want.

“I want all of you,” I tell him, rocking my hips, riding his cock at the same time I’m driving his finger even further into the most forbidden part of me. Dylan groans into my ear and curls his finger, stroking me inside, fucking me every way possible as I lean into the rhythm he’s created between our bodies. Soon his movements grow faster, and his breathing picks up speed as his thrusts become more frantic with unstoppable need.

There is pleasure and pain and I’m hungry for both, grinding against him in a flood of desire. The sensation is exquisite, and I don’t want it to stop. Dylan must feel the same, because he pushes that finger even deeper into my ass, his thrusts shorter and harder, his cock continuing its smooth grind back and forth against the walls of my pussy. I feel my orgasm building, inevitable now, and all I see behind my eyelids are galaxies and stars as the sweetness in my clit expands, rushing through my entire body, about to explode.

“Gemma,” he growls, edging back, both arms holding me tight around my waist now.

He stops the quick fucking to press me deep inside, the way he does when he’s coming, and I cry out a low, shuddering moan, realizing that I’m coming too.

We groan, clinging tightly to each other as the pleasure overwhelms us. My pussy clenches around his beautiful cock again and again, and he holds it inside of me for a few seconds, surfing the last big wave of pleasure that flows from my body to his, before pulling out slowly, leaving a void inside of me that quickly fills with a warm, honey-like fulfillment.

I gather my breath and straighten up, leaning against the wall. My heart is pounding in my chest and my knees are shaking. All I can think is, I’ve never been fucked like this before. Dylan kisses the back of my neck gently and I purr happily.

“Was it good?” I ask, softly.

“You’re always good,” he says, brushing my hair over my shoulder to plant another soft peck along the upper part of my neck. “You’re just…perfect for me.”

As I get dressed afterward, Dylan stands near the doorway in the manner that boyfriends, husbands, and – well, whatever the hell we are – have waited for women since the beginning of time. Impatiently, inexplicably, and long-since ready.

Once I’m finished with my outfit selection, make-up, and hair, I step out of the bathroom and walk towards him.

“Ready now?” he says, doing a decent job of hiding his sense of stretched endurance.

“Let’s go,” I reply, slinging my handbag over my shoulder and stepping past him.

Dylan smiles as he wraps an arm around my waist caringly and opens the front door for me.

Over the next five seconds, realizations hit me like punches to the temple. First I notice the cars. There are usually a few outside my house, but not many people in this area tend to keep cars parked on the street if they can help it. Today, however, the road is filled with them, some even double-parked. Then I notice the people, dozens of idle chatterers standing around, the biggest clusters just in front of my door.

Then I notice the telephoto lenses, the shoulder-mounted cameras, the microphones with major network logos on them.

Then I see stars, flickering in all kinds of colors across my vision, lightning crackling all around me, the docile street scene that was in front of me disappearing and being replaced one-frame-per-second by people running towards me, charging like trench soldiers, arming their cameras like weapons, their eyes refocusing like they’re going in for the kill.

Then a strong grip yanks me backwards, and the door slams shut.

I blink and shake my head, struggling to regain a sense of vision that doesn’t include flying dots and floating neon shapes.

“Fucking paparazzi!” Dylan shouts, as he storms into the apartment.

I continue blinking as I follow him, struggling to keep my balance after the sudden visual shock.

“What’s going on?”

Dylan paces up and down the increasingly tiny apartment. He looks at me with wild, angry eyes.

“They fucking sniffed out a story, didn’t they?”

I rub my forehead, slowly trying to work my brain