He peered at her breasts for a long moment before going to work. Oh, but the man knew how to play. Daff had never even known how sensitive her nipples were before Spencer. He sucked, he licked, he grazed with his teeth and with his stubble and drove her crazy. She still had her arms crossed behind his head, and she arched her back, writhing wildly in his lap as she bordered on orgasm just from having her nipples sucked. It wasn’t anything that had ever happened to her before, and she was almost mindless with passion.
Without moving his mouth from her breast, his hands slid from her waist to her hips. He stilled her frenzied movements and then led her, showing her the rhythm he wanted from her.
“Oh,” she whispered when she slid up against his massive hard-on and the rigid shaft aligned perfectly with her naked furrow. As her clitoris rode up and then down the heavy erection, she realized that her movements had dragged his pants down enough to uncover the plump glans. Her clit bumped against the underside of the broad head with every upward slide, and that, combined with his continued lavish attention at her breasts, felt absolutely incredible. His hands steered her to move faster and she happily obliged, sensing that they were both nearly there.
“Spencer,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please. I’m nearly . . . Oh! Oh! My! GOD!”
Spencer grunted and his arms wrapped around her back in an almost bone-crunching hug; his mouth went slack at her breast as he gasped and then jerked. Daff was too focused on her own orgasm in that moment to recognize Spencer’s. She could not stop coming, her body remaining clenched and spasming for what seemed like hours, before she finally came down from her intense climax.
Spencer was panting against her chest, and she could feel his penis throbbing beneath her still gently thrusting pussy. Judging from the sticky wetness on her abdomen, he had climaxed, too. Hard, if the still-frantic jerking was any indication.
Her blurry eyes focused on the television, and she laughed, her voice sounding hoarse.
“What?” He sounded completely spent, as if just formulating the single-syllable word had taken all the energy he currently possessed.
“The credits are still running,” she said with a chuckle, and he opened his eyes with effort to focus on the television. Where the end credits of the movie they had just watched were rolling to a close. The after-credits bonus scene popped up, and he chuckled.
“Just a little something,” he managed to huff. “A little something to . . . take the edge off.”
She laughed weakly and collapsed onto his chest, content to just stay there for now. A very happy, very sticky, and very replete mess.
They sat there for a while, Daff still straddling his lap. Her knees were drawn up on either side of his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her narrow back. They were both in dire need of another shower, but Spencer didn’t want to move right now. He was so content to just hold her.
Her perfect little breasts were flattened against his chest, and he relished the memory of how responsive they’d been to his every touch.
She was getting heavier as her body went slack with sleep, and he grinned. She had to be exhausted. They’d both had only three hours of sleep the night before. He checked the clock above the mantelpiece. It was late. Time for bed.
He hated to disturb her, but there was no way he could pick her up without waking her, not from this position.
“Daff? Daff, darling,” he whispered into her ear, and she groaned. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Just a little longer,” she pleaded.
“We’ll both be more comfortable in bed.” He shifted her until she was lying sideways on his lap and picked her up in the same way as the night before. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a dreamy smile.
“You can’t keep carrying me everywhere, I’ll get spoiled.”
“You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, and her smile widened.
“Silly man.” She rested her head on his shoulder while he carried her upstairs. Once there he deposited her on his bed—he could get used to seeing her there—and unfastened the one remaining button on the pajama top. He went to the en suite, returned with a warm, damp cloth, and gently wiped the stickiness off her belly. She smiled gratefully, her eyelids heavy with sleep.
“Thank you,” she said in a slurred voice.
“We could both do with a shower, but I’m too fucking tired to bother right now.”
“Me too.”
“Sorry about the mess.”
“It’s your mess,” she said hazily. “I didn’t mind it.”
And wasn’t that just fucking mind-blowing as hell? Not sure what to make of her words, he cleared his throat and climbed into bed next to her.