Tangled
Page 72
I grab her hand and lock our fingers together. Kate uses them for leverage as she rotates her hips, rubbing her gorgeous cunt against my mouth. She moves once, twice…and then she’s coming. Screaming my name brokenly.
She breathes deep as she comes back down. Then she slides sinuously over my body till our mouths line up. And we’re kissing. It’s savage and rough—all tongue and teeth. My hands push through her hair, pulling it loose. Her hips grind against my dick, and her wetness soaks through my pants.
“Fuck, Kate. I’m going to come so f**king hard.”
I just hope I’m actually inside her when I do.
She swirls her tongue around my nipple before she tells me, “Pants, Drew. Off.”
My hips bow off the floor as I tear at the button on my pants. I manage to push them and my boxers down to my knees, but I’m too out of my mind to get them off completely.
I grab her hips and bring them lower. And my c**k slides effortlessly inside her.
Christ Almighty.
We freeze—our faces just millimeters apart—our breaths harsh and entwined. My eyes hold hers. And then she moves. Slowly. Drawing me almost completely out—before surging back down. My head falls back, and my lids close.
It’s perfect. Divine.
My hands are splayed across her hips. Helping her. Gripping hard enough to bruise. And then she sits up, arching her back till her hair brushes my knees. I force my eyes open, needing to see her. Her head’s back, her br**sts are high, and her lips are open as euphoric moans and nonsensical words slip out.
You know how sometimes you read about naked pictures of some moron’s wife getting leaked onto the Internet? I never got that.
But now I do. Because if I had a camera? I’d be snapping that shutter like the freaking paparazzi. To capture this moment. To remember how Kate looks right now. Because she’s just that magnificent. More stunning than any masterpiece in the Louvre—more breathtaking than all the Seven Wonders combined.
She moves faster, harder. And I feel the pressure building low in my gut.
“Yeah, Kate. Ride me…just like that.”
Her tits bounce with each thrust. Hypnotically. And I just can’t resist a taste. I sit up and cover one tip with my mouth, laving and flicking her pointy little peak with my tongue. She screams as her legs wrap around my back—pulling me tighter—rubbing her clit along my happy trail.
She’s close. We’re f**king close. But I don’t want it end. Not yet.
So I roll her under me, cradling the back of her head in my hands, protecting it from the wood floor, as I lay on top of her. Kate’s welcoming thighs open wide, and I push even deeper inside her.
“Oh God…oh God…”
The sound of our bodies slapping and her breathy voice fills the room like an erotic symphony. The New York Philharmonic’s got nothing on us.
“God! Oh God!”
I smile as I pick up the pace, “God’s not the one f**king you, baby.”
Sure, I’m in love, but this is still me here.
“Drew…Drew…yes…Drew!”
Much better.
You didn’t think I was going to start spewing sickeningly sweet, asswipe-like phrases, now did you? Sorry to disappoint.
Besides, I like the word f**k. It implies a certain level of heat. Passion. And it’s specific. If Congress had asked Bill Clinton if he f**ked Monica Lewinski, there wouldn’t have been any question about just what the hell they were talking about, now would there?
It doesn’t much matter what you say when you’re screwing anyway. Or how you do it. Slow and gentle or fast and violent—it’s the feelings behind it that make it mean something. That make it mean everything.
Christ, am I enlightened or what? Aren’t you proud of me? You should be.
I bend my arms and cover her mouth in a devouring, harsh kiss. Then I lick my way to her shoulder and, caught up in the moment, bite down. Not hard enough to break the skin but with just enough pressure to send Kate flying over the f**king edge again.
I straighten my arms so I can watch her. She bucks up one more time before she goes stiff and tight beneath me. Her perfectly painted toes curl in the air as she comes. Her muscles squeeze me hard from base to tip, like desperate hands milking a tube of toothpaste from the bottom up, wringing out every last drop.
My head rolls back and my eyes close as I grunt and curse. And I’m helpless—like a grain of sand in the grip of a tsunami. Pleasure pounds out of every pore in my body as I come with the force of a frigging geyser.
Incredible.
We ride out the wave of ecstasy together until we’re both gulping for air. And then I collapse on top of her. My cheek lies in the valley between her br**sts, my stomach between her thighs. And few seconds later, Kate’s hands come up my back before sliding down my spine in the most soothing f**king way.
I cup her face with my hands and kiss her. Slowly this time. Languidly. Her doe eyes stare into mine. But neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.
And then I feel it.
Have you ever seen a racehorse after it’s been sidelined for a while? I have. When they get back on the track, it’s like fire’s been shot into their veins. They can just run and run—countless laps—miles at a time.
You see where I’m going with this?
I flip us over so Kate’s once again on top, her knees straddling my hips, her head against my chest. We really should move this to the bed—the floor’s damn hard. But, then again, so am I. And that takes precedence.
She breathes deep as she comes back down. Then she slides sinuously over my body till our mouths line up. And we’re kissing. It’s savage and rough—all tongue and teeth. My hands push through her hair, pulling it loose. Her hips grind against my dick, and her wetness soaks through my pants.
“Fuck, Kate. I’m going to come so f**king hard.”
I just hope I’m actually inside her when I do.
She swirls her tongue around my nipple before she tells me, “Pants, Drew. Off.”
My hips bow off the floor as I tear at the button on my pants. I manage to push them and my boxers down to my knees, but I’m too out of my mind to get them off completely.
I grab her hips and bring them lower. And my c**k slides effortlessly inside her.
Christ Almighty.
We freeze—our faces just millimeters apart—our breaths harsh and entwined. My eyes hold hers. And then she moves. Slowly. Drawing me almost completely out—before surging back down. My head falls back, and my lids close.
It’s perfect. Divine.
My hands are splayed across her hips. Helping her. Gripping hard enough to bruise. And then she sits up, arching her back till her hair brushes my knees. I force my eyes open, needing to see her. Her head’s back, her br**sts are high, and her lips are open as euphoric moans and nonsensical words slip out.
You know how sometimes you read about naked pictures of some moron’s wife getting leaked onto the Internet? I never got that.
But now I do. Because if I had a camera? I’d be snapping that shutter like the freaking paparazzi. To capture this moment. To remember how Kate looks right now. Because she’s just that magnificent. More stunning than any masterpiece in the Louvre—more breathtaking than all the Seven Wonders combined.
She moves faster, harder. And I feel the pressure building low in my gut.
“Yeah, Kate. Ride me…just like that.”
Her tits bounce with each thrust. Hypnotically. And I just can’t resist a taste. I sit up and cover one tip with my mouth, laving and flicking her pointy little peak with my tongue. She screams as her legs wrap around my back—pulling me tighter—rubbing her clit along my happy trail.
She’s close. We’re f**king close. But I don’t want it end. Not yet.
So I roll her under me, cradling the back of her head in my hands, protecting it from the wood floor, as I lay on top of her. Kate’s welcoming thighs open wide, and I push even deeper inside her.
“Oh God…oh God…”
The sound of our bodies slapping and her breathy voice fills the room like an erotic symphony. The New York Philharmonic’s got nothing on us.
“God! Oh God!”
I smile as I pick up the pace, “God’s not the one f**king you, baby.”
Sure, I’m in love, but this is still me here.
“Drew…Drew…yes…Drew!”
Much better.
You didn’t think I was going to start spewing sickeningly sweet, asswipe-like phrases, now did you? Sorry to disappoint.
Besides, I like the word f**k. It implies a certain level of heat. Passion. And it’s specific. If Congress had asked Bill Clinton if he f**ked Monica Lewinski, there wouldn’t have been any question about just what the hell they were talking about, now would there?
It doesn’t much matter what you say when you’re screwing anyway. Or how you do it. Slow and gentle or fast and violent—it’s the feelings behind it that make it mean something. That make it mean everything.
Christ, am I enlightened or what? Aren’t you proud of me? You should be.
I bend my arms and cover her mouth in a devouring, harsh kiss. Then I lick my way to her shoulder and, caught up in the moment, bite down. Not hard enough to break the skin but with just enough pressure to send Kate flying over the f**king edge again.
I straighten my arms so I can watch her. She bucks up one more time before she goes stiff and tight beneath me. Her perfectly painted toes curl in the air as she comes. Her muscles squeeze me hard from base to tip, like desperate hands milking a tube of toothpaste from the bottom up, wringing out every last drop.
My head rolls back and my eyes close as I grunt and curse. And I’m helpless—like a grain of sand in the grip of a tsunami. Pleasure pounds out of every pore in my body as I come with the force of a frigging geyser.
Incredible.
We ride out the wave of ecstasy together until we’re both gulping for air. And then I collapse on top of her. My cheek lies in the valley between her br**sts, my stomach between her thighs. And few seconds later, Kate’s hands come up my back before sliding down my spine in the most soothing f**king way.
I cup her face with my hands and kiss her. Slowly this time. Languidly. Her doe eyes stare into mine. But neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.
And then I feel it.
Have you ever seen a racehorse after it’s been sidelined for a while? I have. When they get back on the track, it’s like fire’s been shot into their veins. They can just run and run—countless laps—miles at a time.
You see where I’m going with this?
I flip us over so Kate’s once again on top, her knees straddling my hips, her head against my chest. We really should move this to the bed—the floor’s damn hard. But, then again, so am I. And that takes precedence.
