Mason kissed a meandering trail from my ear to my lips. He eased his cock a bit further inside me and then paused, allowing me time to get used to the new sense of fullness. I imagined supple, receptive things: roses blooming, sand slipping through spread fingers, dark-chocolate pudding. I willed myself to remain open, to embrace the anticipation of not knowing what would happen next.
When his pelvis met mine, I knew he was all the way inside me. I felt stretched, plugged, so full I thought I’d burst. Still, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as my friends had said it would. Then again, weeks of fingering and oral sex had no doubt prepared me for the main event.
I felt every inch of his cock sliding in and out, every inch of my pussy expanding and contracting around him. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more pressure on the outside, more direct stimulation of my clit.
I opened my eyes. Mason was watching me, his expression equal parts lust and concern.
“What do you need, baby girl?”
I wetted my kiss-chapped lips.
“My clit,” I said.
He sat up without pulling out. Draping my legs over his thighs, he gripped the backs of my knees and hauled me toward him, burying his cock deeper inside me. I moaned, shaken by the sensation and turned on by the unparalleled view of his toned chest and stomach. He licked the pad of his thumb and then used it to stroke my clit while he fucked me.
I came undone.
“Oh my God,” I stammered. “Oh shit. Oh fuck...”
This was it. Exactly what I needed.
My muscles gripped him tighter. So tight I was sure I’d force him out. But he kept on thrusting, his own string of expletives tangling with mine as he bucked his hips. Fucking me harder. Faster. It hurt a little at first, but then it began to feel wonderful.
I wasn’t used to having something that big inside me while I got off. It was kind of disorienting. He switched from circling my clit to strumming. I cried out as he pounded into me, drifting somewhere between agony and ecstasy and loving every second.
“You feel amazing sweetheart,” he said. “Are you close? Tell me how to make you come baby. I want us to come together.”
The awareness that my father was about to come inside me was enough to coax a second orgasm from my already spent body. Rather than respond, I simply let the sensation take me: deep, throbbing bass notes—deeper than I was used to—coupled with the sense of total fullness.
I opened my mouth, but no sound followed as my pussy clenched him like a fist. Tight and tighter.
My orgasm seemed to go on forever.
“Jesus fuck, baby.” He drove into me, his abdominal muscles flexing with every thrust.
His cock pulsed. He was coming inside me. Not on my breast or my stomach or in my mouth, but in my pussy. Where no other man had ever come before.
This was it. This was everything.
I came again.
A low roar clawed its way up Mason’s throat as he thrust into me one last time. Wetness trickled down from where our bodies met, dampening the sheets beneath my ass. We gazed at one another through love-drunk eyes, both of us sweat-sheened and out of breath. My limbs felt sluggish as I reached out to touch his hands, still clamped to my outer thighs.
The gravity of what we’d just given each other pulled at us until we couldn’t hold ourselves up any longer. He dropped his weight into his elbows, as I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck.
His heart pounded against my chest like firm knocks on a door, but I couldn’t have opened myself further if I tried. Besides, he was already inside me. In more ways than one. My heels dug trenches into the backs of his thighs as I clung to him, wanting to keep him there, to make him a permanent part of myself. He cradled my face as his cock softened and then shifted onto his side.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
There were too many emotions and not enough words to describe them, so I settled for, “Different.”
“Good different or not-so-good different?”
“Very good different.” I hardly recognized my own voice, ragged and breathy and sounding impossibly young.
His breath washed over my chest, making my nipples tighten. “I’m glad. I was worried you might feel...”
“Feel what?” I traced his collarbone with my fingertip and fought to keep my eyes open. I needed to stamp this moment into my memory like a block printing, so I would never forget the slip-slide of my inner thighs, or the berry-red shade of his lips.