Elisa’s fingers slid down his cock again, dancing over his balls. Cupping them. Gently kneading them. Her tongue flicked at his nipple. Her teeth nipped at it.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Heat cold pressed virgin olive oil in a stainless steel pan over a medium heat.
She slid her mouth from his chest, up to the side of his throat. Her fingers moved from his scrotum, inching closer to his—
“Crack the egg!” he burst out.
She pulled away, confused laughter dancing in her eyes. “Is that some kind of Australian sex term?”
He shook his head, placing his palms lightly to her jaw. “The way you make me feel… Your hand on my cock, my balls… Your teeth on my nipples… Fuck, Lis, I’m trying to stop myself from fucking exploding right now. Going through the process of frying an egg in my head.”
She stared at him. And then laughed. “Oh my God, you’re amazing.”
“So are you,” he rasped.
“Be inside me?” She feathered his nipples with soft fingertips, her other hand closing around his dick once more. “Now? I don’t care if you explode straight away. I just want you inside—”
He crushed her mouth with his, pressing her back to the bed. Covering her body with his.
She wrapped her thighs around his hips, her hands in his hair once again. His cock nudged her folds, the thin film of latex not even close to dulling the exquisite reality of her pussy kissing his cock.
He pictured the frying egg in the pan. Pictured his spatula…
Lifting his head, he stared down into her face. “Fuck frying an egg,” he muttered.
She laughed, and then cried out as he sank his length deep into her heat. He froze. Held his breath. Held her stare. Lost himself to the feel of being surrounded by her tightness. Surrendered to its sublime perfection.
“Oh yes…” she sighed, eyelids fluttered closed. “Oh yes…”
He moved. Rocked his hips backward. Slowly. Forward. Just as slow. Back again. Faster.
Pleasure sheared through him. Consumed him.
He reached back and hooked his hand under one of her thighs, holding her leg higher. Rolled his hips faster, sinking deeper and deeper into her with each thrust.
“Yes…” she moaned, her nails raking at the backs of his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He slammed harder into her. Harder. Faster. Deeper still. She arched beneath him, driving her hips to his, rocking with his movement in perfect harmony.
“Don’t stop,” she ordered, her walls squeezing around his length. “Keep…keep…”
He dropped his head, buried his face into the side of her neck, and sucked on her skin.
“Yes!” she cried out, her sex constricting.
Her orgasm detonated his own. He clung to her leg with one hand, his other punching the duvet beside her head. Rhythm deserted him. His thrusts turned frenzied. Frantic. He came over and over, emptying himself into the condom, reveling in the way her body squeezed him, enveloped him. Responded to him.
Loved the way she fit with him. Moved with him.
Until finally, there was nothing left.
He came to a stop, his heart wild, his head still buried into the side of her neck, his cock still buried in her sex.
“That’s one way to fry an egg,” she panted, her leg sliding from his hand, her fingers slipping from his shoulders.
His laugh wobbly, he lifted his head and smiled down at her. “Every time I fry an egg now, I’m going to think of this moment and get a hard on.”