He kissed me and I pulled out his cock. Our helmets bashed together and I rammed my tongue into his mouth.
He groaned when I treated him to a firm stroke root to tip.
But it wasn’t enough. Not for either of us.
With our mouths locked I toed off my right boot.
He reached for my zipper and drew it down.
The need for his touch, his hands on me—fingers and cock in me—had me groaning and my head spinning.
Fucking was all I could think of.
No longer shooting and surviving.
Fucking.
I wriggled in my pants, ridding myself of the right leg, the one which didn’t hold an additional holster and gun.
“Be quick,” I said, as cool morning air washed over my pussy.
“I can be quick. Can you?”
“Just do it, Ricardo,” I growled. “Stop wasting time.”
The next thing I knew I was in the air, my butt scraping on the gritty brick wall and his big cock nudging my entrance. My underwear bunched out of the way.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and clung to his vest.
He stared into my eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw tense, and thrust into me.
I cried out then stopped myself by biting my lip.
He hit full depth, withdrew and pounded in again.
“Yes. Yes,” I managed. “Oh God, just there. Ricardo.”
“Shut up,” he said. “And come.”
“Fuck me harder then.” I curled my hand behind his neck and drew him close so once again our helmets touched. “Fuck me as hard as you can.”
“You’re really going to fucking get it.”
He shunted into me, riding hard on my clit and stretching my internal muscles. He withdrew and penetrated with barely a pause.
I hugged him with my pussy and met him thrust for thrust by canting my hips.
A climax was imminent. And it was going to be hard and fast and unapologetic.
He grunted and groaned with each intense, determined pound.
I gasped as the air was knocked from my body.
Our uniforms rubbed hard against each other, my pants dangled from my leg. My pussy was wet now, arousal making me slick for him.
We were focused on one thing only. Reaching that high. Finding satisfaction.
“Ricardo. “Don’t stop…”