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1“Hurry,” he says on a ragged breath and presses his hips into my backside. The green light signals, and with one push we’re inside, quickly shutting the door behind us. In a split second I force myself on him, pressing him into the wall as our mouths crash into each other. Our wet clothes grow warmer against one another as we grind fruitlessly. His hands are in my hair, his tongue down my throat, and his knee between my legs.
Ravenous—we’re completely, mindlessly, ravenous for each other.
My fingers dig into the double-layer waistbands of his small black rugby shorts and compression shorts and I don’t dare waste any more time. “Get these fucking shorts off, you slut,” I demand.
“A slut?” He chuckles, but it’s erased when he sees I’m serious and his responding tone switches to obedience. “Yes, ma’am.”
He’s already taken his socks and cleats off before getting in the car, so when he kicks his sandals off, I squat down and peel the wet shorts off him completely. His large, proud cock points directly at my face, but I’m too entranced by his legs—covered in mud, grass, scratches, and bruises. Unable to stop myself, my hands are drawn to slowly skate over them—his coarse hair adding friction to my devotion.
“If you let me shower, I can—”
“No,” I interrupt, still fixated on his powerful legs, the defined muscles, the sinew between it all. “I want you like this. Dirty. Ragged.”
He huffs a disbelieving breath. “Are you sure?” My domineering stare tells him he needs to finish that question properly. “Are you sure, Ma’am? I smell awful.”
When I stand up, taking my time to palm his impressive thighs and ass, I sink my hands under his tight jersey and force him to take it off all the way. “That’s kind of the point, Raf,” I smile and throw his dark teal jersey on the bathroom floor next to his shorts a few feet away. “I want you like this,” I say, then bite my lip, stroking my hands over his abs and chest. It must be the hormones and the way his chest rises and falls that puts me in a trance, because I can’t filter my words. I dig my nails into his thick pecs. “You were so hot out there today. I love watching you tackle other men into the ground. You’re all so rough with each other. It makes me feral.”
“Oh yeah?” he drawls, causing me to finally look into his eyes. He moves to lift my shirt, while pushing me toward the two beds. “Tell me more.”
Oh, he thinks he’s leading this? Fuck that noise.
“Shirt stays on,” I bite out, causing him to freeze with only a foot until we’re on the bed. My mind replays what his BDSM chart said, and I sift through what I want to use. Reluctantly taking my hands off him, I take the opportunity to tease my aching breasts over my shirt. “If you’re a good boy and make me come, I might let you see them.”
“What would I have to do to touch them, Ma’am?”
“Don’t get greedy. You’re mine to use,” I smile, not only at my words but the fucking power surge coursing through my body. I didn’t know I had this in me. Sure, I’ve read about femdoms and listened to endless erotic audios that got me off, but I didn’t know I could actually be this assertive.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he pouts. My god, he pouts. I’ve never seen him pout. It’s fucking adorable and sexy, and I want to rub my pussy all over that mouth and claim that pout as my own.
Pushing off my denim shorts with a gigantic maternity waistband that stretches clear up to my ribcage, I don’t bother feeling embarrassed. He watches me as I kick them to the side along with my panties and sit down on the edge of the bed, the cool white duvet giving way softly under my ass.
“Kneel, slut.” Fuck, this submissive name I’ve given him is sending chills across my body just saying it. He must like it because the excitement in his eyes is undeniable as he sinks to the carpeted floor, and I spread my legs before him. Rafael tries to lean in, but I place two fingers to my seam, dragging my arousal around, playing idly in my short curls, teasing us both. With my other hand planted behind to prop myself up, my head drops back, and I close my eyes, letting my fingers work their magic.
This isn’t what I really want, what I really need, but I love making him wait like this. His little whimpers cut through the silence like a knife. “Please, Ma’am? Please, can I touch you? I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”
“I don’t know,” I taunt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Maybe the stakes are too high now.”
“No, Ma’am. Please—please let me take care of you.”
Rocking my head back down to look at his pained expression, my teasing loses all merit. “You sound so pretty when you beg. Eat.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
My stomach flips when he dives in with a grunt of satisfaction, his massive hands spreading me wide. “That’s it,” I pant as he licks long, languid stripes through my core, already causing me to cant my hips into him. “Yes.” His disheveled wet hair begs for me to grab it, and when I do, he lets out a prideful little grunt. “You like it when I dominate you?” He nods eagerly, but he doesn’t dare take his mouth from the center of my thighs. “Me too,” I smile.
The ache that’s been building inside me all day as I watched his muscular body slam against others begins to relax; the ache transforms to pleasure at the touch of his wet tongue against my clit. The drag of his taste buds against my soft flesh, so tender then so taut. His little appreciative sounds turn up to moans mixed with a growl or two that send my stomach tightening—the sensation traveling north until it’s lodged as heat in my chest.
I’ve never experienced such noisy oral. Noisy in the best way—in the most arousing way. I’ve listened to erotic audio, hoping one day I might be able to have that kind of experience with a partner who can make me feel like eating me out is a luxury, not a chore, not a necessary step on the way to penetrative sex. But like they want to be here. They want to pleasure me because it brings them pleasure.
And then it hits me all over again: here kneels my best friend, the man I trust more than any other, giving me the best, the most eager head I’ve ever known—and he looks like he’s having the time of his life. He just played a full eighty minutes of rugby; he should be bone-tired and needing some aspirin, a beer, and medical attention honestly. But here he is, eating me like I’m the only thing that could help him recover from such ferocious exertion.
When Rafael starts incorporating his teeth along with suction, I’m hurtling toward the finish line sooner than expected. I read somewhere that this heightened sensitivity has something to do with the increase in blood flow in my body now that I’m pregnant—it’s causing me to be more sensitive down there. But I won't stop him, and I don’t warn him. I lean into the free fall from atop my mountain high and allow him to collect his reward.
“Yes, Raf! Yes, that’s a good boy. Don’t stop,” I encourage, already hungry for another release. I desperately want to tell him to use his fingers, but I know they’re filthy, and even though I crave him that way, those will not be entering my body until they’re clean. What he does, however, is place both thumbs on either side of my opening, just outside the pillowy tissue of my sex, and applies pressure while massaging it.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, tilting my head down to gaze hungrily at his beautiful naked kneeling form and stroking my fingers through his damp wavy hair. “That feels amazing. Keep doing that. Give me another one. And apologize for turning me on so badly today.”
His words are muffled through my tender pussy, but he repeats them again and again as he continues to devour me. I can’t see his cock from this angle above him, but I’d wager anything it’s hard as a rock right now.
