He growls in my ear. "I love you, baby. I love all of your curves, all of your words, all of you. Now come here." He gets on his back and tells me to straddle him. “Right here,” he directs me, easing my pussy over his mouth. "This is where you belong," he says. "Your cunt at my mouth so I can lick you nice and good."
For a moment, there's a twinge of insecurity as I consider my position, my thighs straddling his face, my body completely vulnerable. My ass is literally up close and personal, but he seems to love it. He seems to fucking need it.
He groans in desire as he begins to lick me, needy and hungry. I dip my mouth to his thick cock. It's hard and rigid, throbbing, the veins are pulsing with want, pre-cum at his tip. And I lick it off, the creamy milk tempting me, making me want more. I want to fill my belly with his seed and then I want to pump him harder until he coats my tits, until I get him hard again, until I can get him inside my cunt, until I can fill my belly with his ejaculation. I want him to breed me, to make me his forever, mark me with his sperm. I want to have his babies. I want to be his wife, the mother of his children.
I want him. All of him.
God, I lose myself as he begins to lick me up and down until there's nothing left but the delicious juice of my cunt releasing for him. His beard tickles me at my tenderest, innermost parts. I grind against him, moving up and down as I pant. I open my mouth wider, taking him in, sucking him off, bobbing my head like he's a goddamn apple, as if he's the only thing I want to eat.
I suck him tight, my lips wrapping around him, sucking him off in a way that gives me both pleasure and mounting need. My pussy tightens, my core on fire, my clit a seed that's about to pop.
"I’m so close," I moan, and he knows it. His fingers find my sweet little nub, teasing me, pleasing me, making me his in a way I've never been anyone's. "Don't stop," I gasp.
I fondle his balls, sucking them too, one then the other, licking them deliciously, loving his scent – masculine, leather and whiskey, heady and natural. He is a real fucking man, my man.
I want more. I need more. I keep riding him, my pussy so wet, so juicy. I feel a finger, then another, inside of me. He begins to finger fuck me in a way I've never been touched before.
"Oh God," I moan.
"Fucking perfection," he growls, slapping my ass as he fingers me, easing me onto my back. "I need to fuck you with my cock," he tells me, demands of me.
And I slide open my legs, letting him enter me the way we both clearly need. He fills me up, bringing my legs up over his shoulders. Our eyes are locked.
"I love you," I tell him.
"Good," he says, "because you're fucking mine, baby. You're mine now and you're mine forever. Do you understand?"
I nod. There's one answer and one answer alone. I am his and he is mine. We are more than a perfect pair. We're a match made in heaven.
He fucks me until there's nothing left but love.
Love, pure love streaming around us. The fire is bright, but nothing close to the intensity of the flame of our hearts. We come together. We come as one. It's more than 69. It's more than an orgasm. It's more than a frantic rush of desire.
This is love. It's ours. He draws me to him, kisses me deeply, a kiss that could last forever. I sink into it against him. He wraps me in his arms in the way I've always wanted.
"Story," he says, "is this how you always pictured it ending?"
I nod, a grin spreading across my face. "Actually," I tell him, "I think this is just the beginning."
15
Truett
The next morning, we're walking hand in hand towards the town of Big Bear to find coffee and pastries.
“Can you picture yourself here?” I ask her. “I know it's not Los Angeles.”
“I'm not sure,” she says. “I never pictured myself in a small town, but,” she looks up at me, smiling. “I feel like you might be giving me a reason to stay.”
I grin as we walk inside the coffee shop.
“It's not as cute as Honeybee’s,” she whispers, “but the pastries look incredible.”
“The coffee is pretty good too,” I tell her. With our lattes in hand and our chocolate croissants, we begin to walk down the street. There are the typical small-town storefronts: a general store, a diner, a few antique shops, the post office, a boutique, a bar with a hotel above it, a movie theater, a playhouse.