He stood there, frozen to the spot as he stared at me through the glass. Then his eyes focused harder on my face, and his jaw turned tight like he pictured screwing me right there. His chest rose and fell with the deep breath he took, and he shook his head slightly as he walked away. His voice was audible before he moved around the truck. “Baby…”He usually undressed me completely before he took me, but he was too anxious to be patient. He shoved my dress to my hips, left my heels on, and sank into me on the bed, his jeans gone but his shirt still covering his torso.
It was the first time he’d been on top of me since his injuries—and he seemed ready for it.
He moaned once he was fully buried within me, his fat and long cock occupying every inch of me, claiming my pussy so aggressively it hurt a little. His face rested above mine, his lips just inches away.
My hands slipped underneath his shirt, and I pulled it up as he started to rock into me, lifted it to his chest so I could feel his strength, see his display of black tattoos.
He reached one hand behind his neck and tugged it free, tossing the fabric to the side so I could enjoy him the way I liked, see his naked strength on top of me. He moved slowly inside me, rocking me with an easy pace, like just being inside me was enough. “Baby…” His forehead rested against mine as he struggled to get used to this, as he controlled himself to keep from letting go right away. Our abstinence had ruined his threshold, and now he had to start over, get used to his cock surrounded by my heat, my wetness.
I didn’t care that he couldn’t last. It was hot watching him struggle, watching him lose the battle with every thrust. Watching him come apart instantly the first time we were together had been a turn-on, because it proved that he’d really been alone, that he really had no exposure to pleasure at all. That my pussy was the last thing his cock had touched.
And when he came inside me, I could feel it; I could feel the heaviness, feel the heat, feel it spread with the movement of his shaft. He could always keep going with a semi-hard dick because he was big enough, and it only took him a minute to get rock-hard again.
So, it didn’t bother me in the least.
He wasn’t one of those boys who walked away the second he was finished. He could keep going…and going, his desire for me so great that it forced his dick to full mast within minutes.
He came with a groan, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with his load. He looked me in the eye as long as he could before he had to close them, his hips bucking slightly as the feeling overcame him.
I grabbed his ass and pulled him hard inside me, my head rolling back as I felt his seed fill me. The experience was still new to me, to have this kind of connection with a man, nothing keeping us apart.
When he finished, he breathed close to my face, his lips barely touching mine. His dick was still hard, still thick and defined, like nothing happened at all. Then he kept going, this time harder, like he could handle a pace that would make me come in seconds.
That was all it took—a few seconds.
I gripped the back of his neck and moaned in his face, my cunt squeezing him hard, constricting around his length like a strong grip. When he made me come, tears usually sprouted from my eyes, which was something I’d never done before him. He made me come in a different way, made me explode in a way other men never could. Even when we wore a condom, he made it happen, so it was either his size, the way he used it, or because we fell in love almost instantly.
He pounded me into the bed as he watched me, working his body hard to keep the climax going, to squeeze the juice from the lemon and make it last as long as possible. He ground his body against my clit after every thrust, pleasing me like he knew exactly where all my triggers were—and when to hit them.
I finished with tears dripping to my ears, my nails carving him like a pumpkin on Halloween.
He watched my performance without interrupting his own, and once the preliminary orgasms were out of the way, he changed, turned into the aggressive man who used to boss me around. “This pussy is mine.” He increased the effect of his words with his hard thrusts, slamming his dick through my come as well as his. “Fucking mine.” Sometimes he made love to me, told me he loved me, kissed me like he wanted to feel our souls wrap around each other. But sometimes, he just wanted to claim me, to remind me that I belonged to him, that he wouldn’t let me go—not now, not ever.