Overruled

I look down, watching as I slide back out, her lips tightening, like they don’t want me to go. Then I push back in, a little harder, a little farther. I hold myself inside, feeling her throat constrict around me.

“Fuuuuck,” I groan.

It’s delicious torture—perfect agony that I want to last all night.

But I pull back out, just to have the chance to push in again.

Cradling her head, I tell her, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Keep that mouth open, take it all in . . . fuck . . .”

I can’t hold back. Eyes rolling closed, I start to thrust. I don’t want to come, not yet, but I also don’t want to stop. Just a little more, a bit longer.

Sofia moans with excitement—loving it almost as much as I do—and the vibration goes straight to my balls, making them tighten, readying for the rapture that’s just so fucking close. Right on the edge, I grip her hair and pull her off. Then I guide her up to her feet and kiss that perfect mouth.

Now where to? The floor, the couch, up against the wall?

The bed just isn’t an option—way too far away.

I pick up my pants, retrieving the condom from the pocket, tearing it open and rolling it on with an expertise born of practice and desperation. Watching me, Sofia slips out of her skirt and panties, not bothering with the blouse that’s little more than hanging, torn scraps.

The floor it is.

Pulling her into my arms, fucking her mouth with my tongue, I descend to my knees, taking her with me, then lay her down, cushioning her head from the hardwood with my palm.

“Hurry, Stanton,” she begs. Screwing is the only time I’ll ever hear Sofia beg, and it’s awesome. “I need it. Oh God . . .”

She lifts her hips, rubbing against my stomach, her pussy even wetter now. We both groan as I push inside—stretching her stunning tightness—burying to the hilt.

Fuck, yeah.

Exquisite, harsh sounds come from her throat as I thrust hard, pummeling, building us both back up. Her nails dig into my back, making me hiss, and I grip her shoulders for leverage. I grind against her, my hips circling when I’m deepest, pelvises clashing.

“You want it harder?” I rasp, breathless against her ear.

Her legs tighten around me, heels digging into my ass in answer.

“Give me your mouth,” she pleads.

I lower my lips to hers, nipping and licking, fusing us together. Tingling sparks dance along my spine and I pump faster, giving her everything I’ve got, everything I’ll ever have.

I feel her flutter around me, tiny spasms gripping my dick, gaining intensity. “That’s it, baby, come with me . . . right there . . .”

Dots of light dance behind my eyes, and I bury my face against her neck. Her hips surge up one final time and hold, as I thrust forward and magnificent pleasure swells in my veins. Beyond the blood rushing through my ears, I hear her chanting my name as we spike together, coming at the same time—sharing that perfect fucking space where all that exists is her and me and bliss.

Breath against my shoulder, like the flutter of a bird’s wings, is the next thing I’m conscious of. It takes some effort, but I lift up and look into Sofia’s dazzling eyes. Her smile, tender enough to break my heart.

I brush the hair back from her face and press a delicate kiss to her lips. Without another word, I slip out of her and stand. Sweeping her into my arms, I head for the bedroom.

Because the night’s not over yet—not by a long shot.

• • •

Sofia collapses onto her back, laughing breathlessly. I peel off the second well-used condom of the night and toss it into the trash can beside the bed. We lay side by side, in comfortable quiet until a loud grumble from her stomach breaks the silence.

She tries to hide behind her hand, but I enjoy watching the embarrassed flush that spreads from her tits to her cheeks.

“We skipped dinner, didn’t we?” I say.

“Unless you count the fruit garnish on the Tequila Sunrises.”

I tap her leg. “Come on. Let’s see what we’ve got in terms of sustenance.”

I walk down the hall. Naked. I happen to like being bare ass. It feels good, natural. Sure I live on a busy city street and we don’t have curtains, but if people want to look up at my window, might as well give them something to look at.

Sofia follows, my blanket wrapped around her shoulders—I assume for warmth. We left modesty in the dust a ways back—around the first time she played jockey on my face.

She sits at the kitchen table while I get a bowl from the fridge and put it in the microwave to heat. I set two plates on the table, then two glasses of cold water. I feel Sofia’s undivided attention follow me as I move—enjoying the view.

When the microwave chimes, I take the bowl out—and burn the holy hell out of my fingers in the process.

“Shit!” I wag my hand, then suck on the injured digits.

“Careful,” she warns in an amused voice, “don’t singe any good parts.”

Using a towel, I carry the steaming bowl to the table. “Thanks for your concern.”

I dish us out two gooey, heaping servings of homemade macaroni and cheese. Sofia moans on the first bite, and my dick—no longer in fear of injury—takes notice.

“This is so good, Stanton. Did you make it?”

“Nah, I don’t cook. And neither does Jake usually, but his momma’s macaroni and cheese is the one meal he committed to memory. He can’t go a week without it. It keeps well in the freezer, which is convenient.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes, focused on the food. Then Sofia muses, “Today was a good day.”