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My heartbeat thunders in my chest as my gaze zeros in on her mouth, noticing the beauty mark on the edge of her upper lip. I missed that one before. “I’m ready.”
She glances down, and I feel my cock thickening in my jeans. Fuck, this is weird. I don’t know if it’s the booze talking or some caveman fantasy coming to life, but I just know that if she gave me the green light, I’d throw her up on this counter and fuck her till she was pregnant. And I’d like it. I’d like it a lot.
Her voice comes out hoarser than before as her lashes flutter up to look at me. “Do you, like…need to watch porn or something?”
And now I’m hard.
The idea of watching porn isn’t what did it. The thought of her watching porn is what did it. Imagining Trista in my house, watching an erotic video. Her body squirming on my sofa as things get heated. Picturing her rubbing her thighs together to stop herself from pressing her fingers to her clit but eventually succumbing to the hormones coursing through her body.
Fuuuck.
“I don’t think I’ll need to watch anything tonight,” I croak, my voice gravelly.
“You’re just…good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” My voice is soft when I add, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How are you going to…?”
“How?” she asks, her eyes wide, pupils dilated.
I clear my throat. “Do you need to watch porn to finish?”
Her cheeks deepen again, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and drag my finger along her face just to feel the heat under her skin. Her throat contracts with a heavy swallow. “I threw my vibrator in my purse. Works like a charm.”
I nod slowly. “That’s good.”
Her gaze moves as she grabs something off the counter. She holds up the plastic ranch cup between us and says, “You first.”
RanchCupsFullofSemen:1
Blood rushes between my ears as I pump my cock in the bathroom attached to my bedroom. Thank fuck for tight jeans because if my jeans were loose, Trista would have seen just how rock fucking hard I was in front of her moments ago.
I close my eyes and picture the last girl I fucked. Was it Lacey? Or Tracey? Hell, maybe it was Macey? She had big tits and a big ass…just my style. I met her at a dive bar outside of Denver, and it took all of ten minutes for her to drag me into the women’s bathroom.
I don’t make a habit of fucking in public, but the idea of not having to go back to her place and awkwardly excuse myself afterward was an offer too tempting to pass up.
My cock chafes in my calloused hand, so I release my grip to spit on my palm, slicking my saliva along my shaft. Macey isn’t doing it for me. Performance anxiety has truly never been an issue. Then again, I’ve never jizzed in a fucking ranch cup while a woman stood outside the door with a Tylenol syringe in hand, waiting to inject it into her body.
“Why is it so fucking hot in here?” I growl and release my dick to yank my flannel over my head. I glance at myself in the mirror and don’t know if it’s the wine or the pressure of what tonight could mean, but I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. An animal even. The veins in my neck protrude and run down into my hairy chest. My pecs and absare popped like I haven’t eaten in days…every part of my body participating in this act like it’s a team fucking sport.
My face looks red and blotchy, the hollows of my eyes dark, like I’m an addict going into detox. Like I’m seconds away from yanking out a needle and injecting myself with heroin just for the sweet nectar that will bring me oblivion.
I want to end this torture. Grunting, I can already feel the tingles of ecstasy creeping up my spine just thinking about my release.
I inhale sharply as the image of Trista assaults me. Instantly, my hand reaches back down, and I grip my dick harder. Punishingly hard. So hard, it fucking hurts, and I hiss through the adrenaline surge that ratchets to an unbearable level.
I pinch the head of my cock and watch with satisfaction as a dab of precum seeps out the tip. Rolling my thumb over it, I use the bit of liquid as lubrication, the tiny smear making my shaft sticky with friction as my forearm flexes with every pump.
The image of Trista is back again. Her legs spread wide on my white sheets, that baggy T-shirt still on her but riding up just enough so I can get a look at her lush curves. The bottom swell of her breast tortures me like the stickiness around my cock.
I like her body. I’ve barely seen it, and I can already tell I want to fucking touch every supple inch of it. I want to spread my seed all over her.
“Fuck,” I croak softly as my mind shows me her fingers teasing the slits of her cunt. Her chestnut hair is loose around her shoulders, one strand covering that beauty mark on her upper lip as she throws her head back. I can almost hear the moans she would be making as her hips arch up while her fingers work over her needy clit. Her digits would be shiny with arousal, making my mouth water.
God, I bet she tastes good. Dirty and naughty and all the fucking things that make sex so fucking worth it. But the image of her playing with herself isn’t enough. I can’t come. I’m still not ready. As hot as it is to picture her…something still stops me from coming.
