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“I don’t have condoms. I didn’t think I’d be having sex on this trip, it?—”
“Oh,” she blinked as she struggled to think. No condoms. That was bad but… “Wait, I have one. In my handbag.”
“Your handbag?” he repeated, his eyes immediately sparking with hope. “Where?”
“Room, hurry up,” she urged, slapping his taut arse to get him moving. He laughed and leaped from the bed naked and magnificent, his angry-looking cock swaying as it led the way out of the room. He was back thirty seconds later with her tote in hand.
“Christ, it’s cold out there,” he said with a shudder, tossing her bag at her. She sat up lethargically, annoyed at being forced to move while in the middle of her glorious post-orgasmic haze, and rummaged around until she found the one sad little condom that had been in her bag for nearly a year.
“This is the only one,” she said. “So, you’d better make it count, mister.”
He grinned.
“Miles might have some stocked around here somewhere. I’ll dig them out later. But for now…” He took the foil square from her and tore off the corner of the packaging with his strong white teeth. He removed and donned the condom efficiently, then knelt between her splayed thighs, cock twitching while he stared down at her wet, pulsing femininity with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.
“Damn it, I wanted to taste that pretty pussy,” he muttered regretfully, then perked right up. “But it’ll be my little treat for later.”
He lifted one of her legs to his shoulder and leaned over and into her.
“You ready to come on my cock, sweetheart?”
“Confident bastard, aren’t you?” she laughed and he gave her an unrepentant grin, which faded when he pushed into her. It was a snug fit as he was bigger than she’d expected, and it verged on discomfort as the broad head of his penis wedged itself into her tight channel.
“You okay?” he asked, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead, as he focused on her face, seeming attuned to the minutest change in her expression.
“Hmm,” she moaned, not quite capable of speech.
“If you need me to stop or slow down, tell me, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t stop,” she said quickly, immediately worried that he’d withdraw.
“Only if you tell me to.”
“I won’t.”
He smiled. “Okay, then I won’t.”
He worked his way into her, slowly, as gently as he could. His thumb was on her clit, while his mouth alternated between her nipples, making her wriggle in reaction to the overstimulation. Her hips were moving, tiny micro thrusts that sent him deeper and deeper into her body until—at last—he was there, fully buried inside of her.
He grunted in satisfaction and she sighed, as she adapted to his magnificent size.
“You feel so good,” she whispered and he gave her a strained smile.
“Iris, you…” He didn’t seem able to complete what he wanted to say and merely shook his head.
Iris would have pushed him to say whatever it was he wanted to, but she was so immersed in sensation, she couldn’t form a coherent thought of her own. He dragged his length all the way out of her slick, sensitive channel and she sucked in a harsh breath, which she released when he slammed his way back in.
Her free leg bent at the knee and she planted her foot on the mattress to give herself purchase as she raised her hips to meet his hard, demanding thrusts. Her hands were exploring his chest, back, and butt, while her mouth licked and sucked at his nipples, neck, and mouth.
She was in bliss, orgasm followed orgasm and she never wanted it to end, but shortly after her third climax, Trystan shuddered in her arms, his head dropped to her shoulder, and his thrusts lost all rhythm. He plowed into her one last time and kept his throbbing length buried deep inside of her as he came with a low, helpless cry that Iris only barely recognized as her name.
Trystan woke to the wet heat of Iris’s soft mouth on his cock. Her small hand was encircled around the base, while she suckled on his glans like it was the sweetest of lollipops. Her tongue snaked around the corona, sending him arching off the bed with a helpless groan. His hands went to her hair, his fingers twining themselves into the soft, bouncy curls.
“Iris,” he murmured, reverently, his eyes fixated on that plump, suctioning rosebud of a mouth as it drove him to distraction. “I swear to Christ, you’re killing me, baby. Murdering me with that perfect mouth of yours.”
She lifted her eyes to his and grinned, a huge, satisfied shit-eating grin, before she quite deliberately snaked her tongue over the weeping slit of his dick.
A shudder worked its way up his spine and he made a sound that would have embarrassed him at any other time. A helpless, weak, almost keening sound.
