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Her pussy instantly clamps down in objection.
Submission.
Uncertainty.
“Come all over my cock.” More crazed pumping thoughtlessly presents itself. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.” The bawdy grunting is attached to even more erratic thrusting. “Who it’ll always belong to.” Bryn’s head tips further back on a choked breath. “Who I’ll always belong to.”
The tiniest squeak is barely heard prior to the screaming of my name, “Wesssss!”
Pulsations savagely start around my shaft, sucking it in deeper, steeping it in so much searing wetness that my dick is damn near drowning with no chance of survival unless it comes. Thick, torrid surges bury themselves to the furthest depths possible pulling a need from me to shoot all the way up.
Yank my girlfriend back to me.
Dive my impatient tongue inside her mouth and literally suck up the last of her screams.
Unfortunately for us, a small knocking at the door indicates my next plan of licking clean the mess I just made isn’t on the menu.
“Wes…” Holmes cautiously calls out. “It’s time.”
“And breakfast?”
“Your to go order for Mo Mo’s has been placed.”
“Thank you. We’ll be out shortly,” I reply loud enough to be heard around the blockade.
Bryn leans backward so that her blue, mirth glossed gaze can lock onto my mixed one. “And this is why I don’t set an alarm.”
“You mean this is why you’re late everywhere.”
“I am not late, Mr. Wilcox.” Her mischievous smile effortlessly sparks mine. “I am on simply on nautical time.”
“You’re not on a ship.”
“But at heart I’m always in the ocean.”
“That may be true, however, for now, we are working on land time, which is the same thing you need to be on for your interview on Friday.” My hand lovingly slides around the curve of her ass. “Understood, Miss Winters?”
“Understanding, Mr. Wilcox.”
A playful spank is given to both cheeks along with a chaste kiss to her lips.
Getting up and dressed isn’t nearly the quick feat it should be primarily due to the woman I’m crazy about, insisting on driving me crazy, by playfully unpacking every item I manage to get put away.
It takes two more insistent knocks from my security guard who worked half the shift monitoring our hall – with Hurst taking the other half – before she stops joking around and actually changes.
Instead of putting back on the clothes we wore yesterday, we each put on the gift the other grabbed.
To my surprise, mine fits perfectly.
It’s comfortable.
The material is breathable.
And the creation in the middle sparks an idea to possibly mimic something like it for the anniversary proposal.
Bryn’s tank top sits low on her tits like she prefers yet makes her eyes sparkle exactly like I hoped.
I swear to the art lords of DC that they look like something ripped straight off the pages of a comic.
