she said with a half-smile. Oh yeah, this was a man who’d like to be in command.
Paige looked down at him, at this huge, dark man on her pristine white bedspread, taking up half the bed. Almost every muscle he had was tense, in relief. One muscle, in particular. Was it a muscle? She knew her botany but not her anatomy.
Whatever it was, it was huge and hard as steel and utterly fascinating. His penis was dark with blood, the thick tip even darker, and almost reached his navel. She could see his heartbeat in the tip, trembling slightly with each beat of his heart. Though she would have sworn it was impossible, it thickened even more under her gaze.
She was supposed to put that inside her?
But then her vagina pulsed once, sharply. Her body was readying itself for him, all by itself. Her body wanted this, no question.
How strange. With her previous lovers, she realized, she had to almost coax herself into arousal—but not now. It was as if some outside force were taking her over, or maybe a really primitive part of her, one she’d never been aware of, was coming to the fore.
He curled his fingers up. “Come to me, Paige.” That low, deep, utterly male voice was irresistible. Feeling carried by forces beyond her control, she placed one knee on the bed and swung herself over him.
If you’d asked her, she’d have said she preferred the missionary position, too, at least at first. If you’d asked her, she’d have said it was awkward being on top right away, she’d feel clumsy clambering over him, wouldn’t know where to put her knees and elbows.
But nobody asked, and she found herself flowing on top of him like water, the only thought in her overheated head to try to touch as much of him with as much of her as possible. In a moment, she was stretched out on top of him, his arms holding her tightly, kissing her savagely, as if they were long-lost lovers reunited after years of separation.
One hand was holding her to him, the other reached down to open her up. Oh God, she gasped when he touched her again, she was even more sensitive there than before. Every nerve ending in her body congregating right… there.
She moaned and he stiffened under her, kissing her more deeply, holding her more tightly. She was opened up over him and he started sliding along her lips without penetrating, so slowly she could feel in turn that broad head, the steely shaft, his thick pubic hair against her. Then back, slowly. Forward. Back. The motions speeding up. With each passage, she grew hotter and wetter. He was moving faster now, passing over her clitoris with a little explosion of feeling each time.
Explosions of feelings everywhere. Her mouth, her hands, clinging to his hard shoulders as if she’d fall off a cliff if she didn’t hang on tight, the insides of her thighs lightly abraded by the hairs on his legs, the hard muscles of his stomach brushing against hers with every movement.
Faster. Harder. Hotter.
She was on top, but not in control. He was doing everything—kissing her so hard she was breathing through his mouth, his hips moving so fast the bed started creaking, the friction burning her up.
He must have felt something: her muscles going slack as she began that luscious slide into orgasm, her breath caught in her lungs, that inward turning… something. Because the moment she started clenching around his penis, he lifted her slightly, thrust his hips up, and, oh God! entered her.
He was already moving, hard and fast, somehow timing his thrusts to her orgasm as they rocked together in some primordial rhythm that sucked her under, as if the climax were some warm tidal sea where she lost her sense of self completely, connected to life by her mouth to his and him rocking inside her.
Floating, rocking, detached from earth. Slippery and hot, clenching around him—not only with her vagina but with her arms and legs—until they were one creature, one being, fused together.
The pulses were starting to die down when he
Paige looked down at him, at this huge, dark man on her pristine white bedspread, taking up half the bed. Almost every muscle he had was tense, in relief. One muscle, in particular. Was it a muscle? She knew her botany but not her anatomy.
Whatever it was, it was huge and hard as steel and utterly fascinating. His penis was dark with blood, the thick tip even darker, and almost reached his navel. She could see his heartbeat in the tip, trembling slightly with each beat of his heart. Though she would have sworn it was impossible, it thickened even more under her gaze.
She was supposed to put that inside her?
But then her vagina pulsed once, sharply. Her body was readying itself for him, all by itself. Her body wanted this, no question.
How strange. With her previous lovers, she realized, she had to almost coax herself into arousal—but not now. It was as if some outside force were taking her over, or maybe a really primitive part of her, one she’d never been aware of, was coming to the fore.
He curled his fingers up. “Come to me, Paige.” That low, deep, utterly male voice was irresistible. Feeling carried by forces beyond her control, she placed one knee on the bed and swung herself over him.
If you’d asked her, she’d have said she preferred the missionary position, too, at least at first. If you’d asked her, she’d have said it was awkward being on top right away, she’d feel clumsy clambering over him, wouldn’t know where to put her knees and elbows.
But nobody asked, and she found herself flowing on top of him like water, the only thought in her overheated head to try to touch as much of him with as much of her as possible. In a moment, she was stretched out on top of him, his arms holding her tightly, kissing her savagely, as if they were long-lost lovers reunited after years of separation.
One hand was holding her to him, the other reached down to open her up. Oh God, she gasped when he touched her again, she was even more sensitive there than before. Every nerve ending in her body congregating right… there.
She moaned and he stiffened under her, kissing her more deeply, holding her more tightly. She was opened up over him and he started sliding along her lips without penetrating, so slowly she could feel in turn that broad head, the steely shaft, his thick pubic hair against her. Then back, slowly. Forward. Back. The motions speeding up. With each passage, she grew hotter and wetter. He was moving faster now, passing over her clitoris with a little explosion of feeling each time.
Explosions of feelings everywhere. Her mouth, her hands, clinging to his hard shoulders as if she’d fall off a cliff if she didn’t hang on tight, the insides of her thighs lightly abraded by the hairs on his legs, the hard muscles of his stomach brushing against hers with every movement.
Faster. Harder. Hotter.
She was on top, but not in control. He was doing everything—kissing her so hard she was breathing through his mouth, his hips moving so fast the bed started creaking, the friction burning her up.
He must have felt something: her muscles going slack as she began that luscious slide into orgasm, her breath caught in her lungs, that inward turning… something. Because the moment she started clenching around his penis, he lifted her slightly, thrust his hips up, and, oh God! entered her.
He was already moving, hard and fast, somehow timing his thrusts to her orgasm as they rocked together in some primordial rhythm that sucked her under, as if the climax were some warm tidal sea where she lost her sense of self completely, connected to life by her mouth to his and him rocking inside her.
Floating, rocking, detached from earth. Slippery and hot, clenching around him—not only with her vagina but with her arms and legs—until they were one creature, one being, fused together.
The pulses were starting to die down when he
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