Page 83 of Smut

I reach down, arcing over her stomach, and place my finger on her clit and rub it around, her juices spreading. I work at her until I feel her widen, her legs spreading more, and then I push in again from this angle. Here she’s even tighter. I can plunge deeper and I know I’m hitting all her sweet spots. She gasps and I grab her arse, holding on tight, my fingertips sinking into her soft skin.

She’s so wet and lush, I could lose myself in her forever.

But I don’t have forever.

My pace becomes quicker as my balls rise, tighten, threatening to let loose inside of her. They smack against her skin, the slapping noise filling the room as I pound her in and out, in and out, quick and relentless, bringing me to the edge.

I groan loudly, unable to keep quiet. The need in me to come is too sharp, too hard, too much. I slide out slowly and watch my thick shaft, shiny with everything she has, then I plunge back in. My whole body shudders.

“Come for me,” I growl at her, knowing I wrote a line like that earlier, but I don’t fucking care. I want her to come with me, again and again.

I work my fingers into a frenzy, her face sinking into the blanket and her muffled moans get louder and louder while I slam into her harder and harder.

“Oh my god!” she cries out, followed by a string of nonsense that sounds like poetry right now.

The bed is shaking.

She’s shaking.

I’m shaking.

Then I’m coming.

Hard.

I take in a deep breath and let out a low, guttural cry as my coiled muscles let loose and the orgasm rips down my spine, shooting out through every vein. I see the fucking stars. The moon. The light that lives in the back of your head.

Then there’s nothing of me left.

I’m empty. Sated.

Boneless.

I lean against her, trying to feel my limbs, my grip on her hips slick with sweat.

She’s collapsed into the bed, not moving but breathing hard, her back rising with each breath.

Carefully, I pull out and then through my haze, I tie the condom and toss it into the trash. I lie down on the bed next to her and pull her to me, rolling her over so we’re face to face.

“Hey,” I say to her, still breathless, propping my head up with my elbow.

She swallows, her face flush and damp, her pupils dark like stones. “Hi.”

“So how was round number two?” I ask lazily.

Her lips curve. “Better than round one.”

“How so?”

“No librarian running after us?”

“Really? I thought that made things special.”

“There are different kinds of special,” she says.

I bite my lip and then reach over, playfully dragging the tip of my finger over her nose. “You hungry?”

“For what?” she asks warily.