My pussy is in a world made of pink-hot heat, and I can feel my honey gushing over his fingers as my whole body spasms, soaked in warmth. The orgasm rips through me, violently and passionately, and with an equal force to every other orgasm I’ve had right up until this point—combined.
Evan tears his fingers away and drops to his knees again, lapping hungrily at my throbbing, dripping pussy with his hot, thick tongue.
He grabs onto my hips as my orgasm fades away into desperate little gasps.
I’m shaking. He’s bristling with unspent energy.
And as he rips himself away from my pussy, he looks up at me like he knows exactly where he wants to expend every ounce of it.
“You’re taking my cock,” he tells me.
Not ‘Do you want it, babe?’ and not even ‘Tell me you want my cock.’
He just tells me, just like that. That he’s going to fuck me.
And I just look up at him with my body still heaving from the world-shattering orgasm I just had and my panties stuffed in my mouth like, okay. Because at this point? It’s white flags all around, babe.
I’ve felt the pleasure. I’ve felt the heat. If I come to regret this, I’ll do it in the morning.
Right now?
Full fucking surrender.
If he wants his cock inside me, then he’d better give me his fucking cock. Any other man would’ve taken me to bed.
Or…let’s be real.
Any other man would have tried to take me to bed. I’ve watched horny idiots fumble around with their buttons and flies in frantic desperation. Christ, I’ve seen them get hard and forget that they’re supposed to be between my legs—not the other way around.
Most men get kind of fucking dumb when they want to fuck me as bad as I know Evan must right now. But most men aren’t him. He gets his dick out before I’m even fully recovered from wave after wave of pleasure I just finished riding.
Then he fucks me right there, on his leather fucking armchair.
My body crushes beneath his as he tosses his shirt across the room. I’m bathed in the scent of his skin. My lips find the place where his pectoral meets his shoulder.
When I kiss him, I breathe everything in.
The leather of the armchair.
The tequila on my tongue and the soaked panties in my mouth.
And him.
He’s hard rain and singed ozone, lightning tearing through a starless night. Amber whiskey in a glimmering decanter and fresh cut grass. The heat of his skin is unbearable.
I want—need—desperately—
More.
MORE.
My fingers curl against the firm, burning crescents of his shoulder blades as his cock slides into my slit and forces its way in. My fingernails cut into his skin, and not even my La Perlas can muffle the sound of my moans.
We come together. It’s not just happenstance. It’s an inevitability. He growls, and I scream. Our bodies are united, not just on a physical level, but in sheer fucking rapture.
Ecstasy.
One moment, we’re howling and hissing like alley cats.