Page 41 of Iron Heart

The first lick makes her cry out and strain toward my mouth. She’s close. So close I have to work to make it last. Even though I want it all, right now. I lick again, sliding my tongue against her entrance and then around her clit. She’s incredibly wet, delicious and sweet. Her fingers tighten in my hair. Her legs fall further open, her hips thrusting toward my tongue. I slide two fingers inside her, her juices coating me as she clenches around them. My cock fuckingachesto take their place.

Tori’s thighs are trembling around me, her muscles tensing with need. She’s ready, and I hesitate for a second whether to make her wait, but in the end I can’t fucking stand it anymore. I crook my fingers inside her, stroking to find what I’m looking for, and I’m rewarded when she freezes and lets out a guttural sound of surprise that tells me maybe she doesn’t know about this spot on her body yet. Her hips start to buck, and I stop holding back, licking her deeper, faster, sucking her clit between my lips, and then, just as I feel her tighten and tense, I flick my tongue against her one final time and she explodes, screaming and shaking, her whole body jerking. I keep sucking and licking until her the tone of her cries shifts and I know to stop. Half-blind with lust, I pull myself up to my knees and grab at my jeans until I find the condom in my wallet. I get it on with shaking fingers and then grab her hips and pull her to me, sheathing myself inside her up to the hilt.

Holy fuck.

I’ve never felt anything half as good as Tori’s tight, hot pussy around my pulsing cock.

I hear myself growl something that doesn’t sound like words, and then I’m thrusting as hard and fast as I can. This train has left the station and there’s no brakes on the fucking thing. I lift my eyes to look at Tori — her fucking beautiful tits, her long neck, the flush of her skin, the cascade of thick, wavy honey hair. She’s watching me as I thrust, her eyes hooded and a darker blue than I’ve ever seen them, like the ocean. They flutter, almost close, then open again, refusing to leave mine. Her mouth moves, lips puffy and pink.

I reach down with one hand and slide one thumb against her swollen, wet clit. She gasps.

“Yes,” she whispers.

My balls tighten. I can feel the explosion coming. Tori’s head arches back. Her pussy clenches around me. A strangled cry escapes her throat as she starts to come a second time, and that’s all it takes for me. Two seconds later, I lose control, shooting so hard inside her and for so long I feel like I’m never going to stop.

We’re both gasping for breath when it’s over, sucking at the air like we can’t get it into our lungs fast enough. I’m still inside her, her legs still wrapped around my waist, and before I even know what I’m doing I bend over and press my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. We stay like that for a minute, both of us fighting for the same air, in the same ragged rhythm.

“Holy shit,” she manages to whisper.

I don’t say anything back, still sucking wind. I don’t open my eyes, just listen to the two of us breathing together.

I always knew sex would be explosive with Tori. I could just fucking tell. Knew it in my bones.

Just like I know we’ll be at it again in a couple of minutes. Just as soon as I can recover.

If I thought finally giving in and fucking Tori was going to get her out of my system, I can already tell I was wrong as hell about that.

I know I’m not good for her. I’m not boyfriend material, like I already told her.

But damned if I’m not starting to get ideas, anyway.

“Hey,” she murmurs. Her voice is low, and a little husky from screaming. “You want to order a pizza?”

I start laughing.

“What?”

“Just not what I expected you to say,” I chuckle.

“Oh.” She pauses. “Well, do you?”

I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t want to, but because I do. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, in fact, than hang out here with Tori, eat pizza, and then go for round two.

“Sure,” I say, against my better judgment. “Pepperoni?”

“With mushrooms?”

“Deal.” I lift myself up on an elbow. “You call. I’ll buy.”

An hour later,we’re sitting on her couch, eating greasy pepperoni and mushroom pizza off paper towels. She’s in just my shirt. I’m wearing my jeans.

“They really need to get a decent pizza place in this town,” I grumble. “Not enough Italians in Ironwood.”

Tori swallows a mouthful. “Have you always lived here?”

“Not always, but close to it. I was born in Cleveland. My ma moved us here when I was five.”

“Does she still live here?”