“God,” he groans, kissing my mouth, my ears, my neck, his hands trailing me, rolling into the bed with me, drawing against me, cupping my ass, my breasts.
I murmur with desire as he begins to finger me. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I know you've had a long, long day.”
He moves his mouth past my belly to my pussy. And he begins to kiss me ever so softly, taking back whatever that fucker tried to take before. Jacob returns it twentyfold with kisses, like a butterfly up and down my inner thighs, licking and sucking and teasing. Tempting me until I am spun up in ways that have my back arching and my pussy dripping and my mouth moaning and my body on fire.
“Oh my God,” I groan, my fingers running through his hair, basking in this sensation of pure bliss, drawn out heat. Him and me, now. “Oh, yes.”
My need grows as his tongue deepens inside of me, flicking against me and fluttering and filling me up. He adds one finger to my pussy, and then another, until I'm juicy and wet in ways I've never been before. With my legs wrapped around his head, he looks up at me, grinning.
His beard is wet from my release, but he sure doesn't seem to mind. “You like that, baby?” he asks.
I smile, sated. “Is this all okay?” I ask in a near whisper, not knowing if this is what he likes, but his smile tells me everything I need to know. It tells me everything. His smile is big and greedy and he dips his mouth for more, kissing and sucking until there is nothing but another intoxicating, orgasmic release that I've been building up for my entire life.
Twenty-five years of this – waiting for Jacob.
When I let go, I do more than whimper.
I do more than moan.
I give it my all. I cry out his name, my fingers grasping the bedsheets.
My back arches as I squirt for him, the orgasm rolling over me in a way that has my body panting from head to toe.
When I finish, he rolls up beside me, smiling like a lovesick fool. “Damn, baby, you know how to get off, don't you? Your pussy is fucking ripe and tight.”
Then I press his back on the mattress, and I roll on top of him.
I'm a romance writer. I've been typing about women straddling men for a half-dozen books.
Now it's time to test this out for myself.
9
JACOB
“You sure about this?” I ask Juniper as she straddles me. There's a smile on her face. The girl who was shivering and shaking an hour ago is long gone.
Maybe it was the rocking orgasm that just lit her on fire. Maybe it's the ability to take control of her own life. I don't know, but I like it. This sight is fucking glorious.
Her hair is dry. It's wavy and falling over her face, brushing against my chest. I tuck it behind her ear. My knuckles brush over her cheek. Her eyes close.
“You make me feel so beautiful. I didn't think it was possible for any one person to make another person feel so good, but you make me feel like a princess.”
“That's a good thing, right?”
I smile. “It's the fairy tale.”
“So now you're sitting on top of me. You prepared for what happens next, baby?”
She shakes her head. “Honestly? No.” She exhales and licks her lips.
“Well, I’ll help. I just want to make sure you're ready because if you're a virgin, that means this is going to hurt. Even though I did my part in making sure everything was warmed up down there, I'm not exactly average, if you know what I mean.”
She swallows, scooching herself down my thighs and kneeling so she can take me in more fully. She takes my cock in her hand and begins to stroke me up and down with her delicate hands. “This is a lot to work with,” she says, her eyes wide. They find mine. She smiles.
“I love how open you are,” I tell her. “How funny and playful you are right now. Even though this is something new to you.”
“And I like how good you are at expressing yourself,” she says right back. “Especially for someone who's lived alone for so long,” she adds.
“Yeah. Well, I never had a problem saying what I thought or how I felt. But I do admit to missing someone to share those things with.”
She begins to run her hands over my chest, my body, my thighs, my balls. “I'm so sorry for everything you've been through, Jacob. You’ve been through hell and back. And now here you are, rescuing the damsel in distress.”
“No damsel. I think you can take care of yourself pretty well. How did you get away on your own?”
She smiles. “I’ve been trained in medieval weaponry. Let’s just say his curtain rod with the fleur de lis on the end worked well as a javelin. I hope it hurt as bad as it looked.”