“Not gonna come that way,” I tell her, the words falling between her lips as we continue to kiss.
“I want you to come inside me,” she whispers back, her bold words driving me on.
Though she better mean come inside her while I’m wearing a condom…
One more long, languid kiss and then I’m off the bed, kicking off my stupid shoes, shucking my pants and underwear to the floor. I then have to grab them again to pull my wallet out, flipping it open to find the single condom I leave in there for moments just like this.
These sorts of moments were a lot more frequent when I first started playing for the NFL. Back when I’d fuck anything with a willing pussy. Sounds trashy as hell, but all the single players do it, and even some of the committed ones do too. We’re young and rich and hoping to be richer and seeking celebrity status. Women come running, spreading their legs easily. Part their lips easily too.
It was a whirlwind of sex with strangers, and I was over it a while ago.
So what’s with me and Susanna tonight? She’s pretty much a stranger, and we’re about to have sex. It shouldn’t feel any different from my previous experiences with football groupies and the hot, readily available women looking for a good time.
I can’t group Susanna with any of those women, though. She’s…different. Which sounds corny as hell, I know this, but I can’t help but think that it’s true.
Susanna is definitely different.
“Oh my goodness.”
Her startled voice knocks me from my thoughts and I realize quick she’s sitting in the middle of the mattress, staring at my naked body. I’m still standing next to the bed, condom in hand, cock jutting out toward her like it’s waving hello. I’ll be inside you soon, can’t wait.
“You all right?” I ask as I frown at her.
Her eyes never stray from my dick. “You’re…massive.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty big everywhere.”
“What size shoe do you wear?”
Say what? “Sixteen.”
She blinks up at me. “What…oh, that’s right. You Americans have different shoe sizes.”
I had no idea that was a thing. “Trust me. A sixteen is big, Susanna.”
“I assumed.”
“I’ve measured my dick before too.” I grab hold of my erection and give it a firm stroke, her gaze never straying from my hand. “Want to know the length?”
She hurriedly shakes her head. “I’m afraid you might scare me more if you give me facts and figures.”
“Jesus, woman, don’t be scared.” I rejoin her on the bed, crawling over her and grabbing her arms. I lift them up, gently pinning them to the mattress, my gaze on hers. “I’ll fit.”
Her eyebrows wrinkle in seeming concern. “Don’t be too sure about that.”
If this mean she’s extra tight, I will probably bust my nut before I barely get inside her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and wet.”
Her mouth falls open. “You…will?”
“Oh yeah.” She seems surprised that I said that. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“Well, yes. Of course. I just…” Her voice drifts and I dip my head, brushing my mouth against hers.
“You just what?”
“I’ve never had a man tell me that he’ll—take care of me. In bed,” she admits.
“You’re not used to talkers then.” I have a reputation as a guy who doesn’t say much. I don’t talk to the media very often, if it all. I don’t say a lot of bullshit when I’m being interviewed by anyone—and I rarely get interviewed by anyone because of that.
But when I’m intimate with a woman? For some reason, I’m a talker, and it always surprises them.
Always.
“Not particularly, no,” she admits.
“Does it embarrass you? My talking?” I ask before I lean in and rest my mouth against her throat. I nip her. Give her a little lick. “Fuck, you taste good,” I mutter.
A little whimper escapes her. “It’s not embarrassing, no.”
“So you won’t mind if I talk about eating your juicy pussy?” I lift away from her to catch her reaction.
She slaps her hands over her face, a laugh escaping her as she spreads her fingers wide so I can see her eyes peeking through. They dance with amusement. And arousal. “God, Cannon, really? My juicy—pussy?” She chokes out that last word, which makes me laugh too.
“I bet it’s real wet,” I tell her after my laughter dies, my hand wandering across her soft belly, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. “I bet I can make it even wetter.”
Her legs go wider, and I know she wants me to make that pussy wetter.
I will happily oblige.
Cannon has a very determined expression on his face. His lips are thin, his gaze steely and his jaw extra firm. Even his nostrils are flaring, and I never thought that to be particularly sexy on a man, but on Cannon…
That would be a yes.
All his talk about making my—pussy (yes, I’m having a hard time even thinking the word, though I did actually say it only a few moments ago) wetter, is indeed making it wetter. And now that he’s sliding my panties off with those big hands of his, his fingers brushing against my legs on purpose, my entire body is trembling in anticipation of what he might do next.
He surprises me by dropping soft kisses across my stomach. Gentle, damp touches of his lips, no licking tongue or sharp teeth involved. My eyes tightly closed, I try to calm my ragged breathing, pretend that I’ve got it together. That this is no big deal, being in this giant man’s bed, his hands all over my naked body. But it’s so very difficult when I can’t stop thinking about the insistent pulsing between my legs.
And how Cannon’s face will most likely end up between my legs.
All of his soft, sweet kisses are a tease. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs. His tongue dips into my bellybutton, making me inhale sharply at the shock of it. Those giant hands of his push my legs open as he readjusts his position between my thighs and then…
And then.
His mouth is there. A teasing brush. A quick kiss, an exhalation of hot breath upon my most sensitive skin. I squirm beneath him, wanting more, unsure of how I should ask, frantically trying to come up with ways to ask.
He’s driving me absolutely insane, and he really hasn’t even done anything yet.
Cannon pulls away and remains still, like he’s studying me down there, and I crack open my eyes to find that yes indeed, he is definitely studying me down there.
“I like that you’re not waxed,” he observes, his gaze never leaving my most intimate spot.
I frown at him. “What do you mean?” I trim it a bit, shave a little here and there, but I don’t go completely bare. Considering the men in my life are pretty few and far between at the moment, what’s the point in getting a complete wax job only to end up itchy and miserable when it grows back in? I don’t bother keeping up with the regular appointments.
Not like anyone’s checking me out down there anyway.
Not until Cannon.
“You’ve got a pretty full bush.” He actually finger combs my “pretty full bush,” and I must admit, it feels...wonderful. Though anytime Cannon touches me, it feels wonderful. “I like it.”
“Um, thank you,” I say weakly, because I don’t know how else to answer him.
“You’re welcome,” he says with a chuckle, his mouth hovering just above where I want him the most. “You’re extra pretty down here too.”
I’ve never had a man compliment my vagina before. Should I find this rather odd? Because for some reason, I don’t. “You think so?”
“Oh yeah. All pink and glistening.” He dips his head and licks me with his wide tongue, shocking a loud gasp out of me. “You taste good too.”
I’m about to say something else, something completely inane and silly, but then he starts licking me in earnest, his tongue everywhere at once, his fingers spreading me wide as he sets his focus on my clitoris.
He licks and sucks it greedily, drawing the bit of flesh between his lips, slipping one finger, then another inside of me.
It takes no time at all for my orgasm to draw closer, hovering just beyond the horizon, and I swear I’m about to fall over that delicious edge when he pulls away and asks, “You like that?”
My fingers curl into fists and I pound the mattress with frustration. “I freaking love it.”
I never, absolutely ever say things like I freaking love it.
What is this man doing to me?
He laughs and I glance down, our gazes connecting. He’s lying on his stomach, elbows propped, face right between my legs. We watch each other silently, my breath stalling in my throat when he lowers his head, his gaze still never leaving mine as he slowly licks me. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, my chest tight as I continue to hold my breath, still watching him as he laps at my flesh like I’m an ice-cold popsicle on a steaming hot day.
It’s too much, watching him and feeling what he’s doing to me at the same time. I swear I’m getting lightheaded, and I realize it’s because I’m still holding my breath.
Exhaling loudly, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
He stops what he’s doing. Doesn’t say a word, doesn’t touch me, just…stops.
“What’s wrong?” I breathe.
“You need to watch me.” His voice is deep and dark, the words like a command.
“I don’t know if I can stand it,” I admit, my eyes still closed.
“You won’t get what you want if you don’t watch,” he says.
My eyes pop open and I lift my head, our gazes meeting once again. His lips are shiny, his eyes dark, his hair a mess, and all I can think about is, how fast can he put his mouth and tongue back on me?
“Don’t look away,” he whispers as he ducks his head once more, his tongue flickering against my clit.
It’s much more intense, watching a man go down on you. Most of my encounters with this particular activity are done in the dark. My first boyfriend had become quite excellent at it because it was all he wanted to do, and I was a willing participant. The other occasions with men going down on me had mostly been a disappointment. They never managed to find the right parts to focus on, and I was too chicken to direct them where they needed to be.
That was my own fault, and it’s a problem I still have now. I’m not the most vocal or demanding in bed. After a while, I figured I’d become spoiled by my first, overeager boyfriend. No one was as good as Colin. That boy gave me multiple orgasms.
Multiple.
But Colin has met his match, and his name is Cannon. The man knows exactly where to zero in on, and my entire body is singing with the potential to orgasm at any given moment. I’m trying my best to think of other things just to draw this moment out. Like how I need to do my washing and give my tiny place a good dusting.
All thoughts of cleaning my flat are gone. All I can focus on is the intense sensations that are slowly taking me over. He keeps flicking his tongue, though, increasing the speed, his fingers sliding back inside my body, back and forth. In and out. I’m shaking. He presses his tongue flat against my clit, does this unusual pulsing thing that I’ve never felt in my life, and then I’m shouting.
Shouting.
And coming. Oh God, I’m coming and coming, my entire body convulsing as if I have no control over it, and Cannon is gripping my hip in one hand, two fingers from his other hand curled deep inside my body, touching some magical place that makes me convulse even harder.
It’s so overwhelming, I’m seeing spots. Like I might actually black out from an orgasm.
Who knew?
Seconds later—possibly minutes, maybe even hours—Cannon slides his body up so he’s lying beside me, his heavy arm flung across my stomach, his mouth seeking mine. I let him kiss me, so exhausted I can barely move. I taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, and it’s strangely arousing.
So of course I do manage to kiss him back and then he’s slapping his hand all over the mattress, searching for the forgotten condom, and I find it first, placing it in his hand without a word. No words are needed, we know what we want. He rises up on his knees, his erection jutting out toward me, the tip glistening with a single drop of creamy liquid, and unable to stop myself, I lean up and flick my tongue across the head of his cock.
“Jesus,” he breathes out, his expression telling me I’ve just blown his mind. I’ll blow him more if he lets me. “Do that again.”
I do it again, rising up on my elbows and opening my mouth, letting him slip his erection between my lips. I suck and lick just the head, my gaze lifting to meet his as he watches me with complete and utter fascination.
Again, I’m not big on the blowjob thing. I gave Colin plenty of them because I wanted to return the favor and we were both young and experimental and ready to do it all. Of. The. Time. There is nothing more exhilarating as young love. First love.
This, though, is completely intoxicating. He’s watching me, and I’m watching him, and his long, thick cock is in my mouth, and I’m…loving it. Oral sex on the first date is not my thing, but I get the sense that this entire night isn’t going the way it usually does.
And I’m okay with it.
“We gotta stop.” He pulls his erection from my mouth, his expression, his voice full of agonizing torture. “I can’t do this.”
I’m disappointed he’s gone. “Why not?”
“I won’t come in your mouth.”
“But I came in your mouth,” I point out, shocked by my words. I’m exploring new territory tonight.
“I know, and it was fucking amazing, but I don’t want to blow my entire wad and be done with it.” He blinks at me, and apparently now he’s sleepy, his eyes are so heavy lidded. I wonder if he’s still suffering from a major case of jet lag. “I want to fuck you so I can feel you squeeze the come out of me.”
Oh. My.
His words are incredibly rude. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
So why am I attacking him like an uncontrollable, sex-deprived demon? I practically throw myself at him, my mouth finding and fusing with his, my hands roaming, my lower body grinding against his. He lets me act like a sex maniac for all of about two minutes and then he takes control, flipping us over so my back is on the mattress and he’s above me. Somehow in the chaos he rolled the condom on, and I watch in fascination as he rises up on his knees again, grabs hold of my hip with one hand and the base of his erection with the other, and slowly brushes the tip against me.
I’m shivering just at that first touch. I’m so wet, I can actually hear the, ahem, juicy sounds my flesh is making, and he’s smiling. So wide, I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“See? Your pussy is juicy,” he says, sounding proud.
I knew he would say that.
“It won’t hurt,” he tells me, his voice low and even as he slowly pushes himself inside me. I immediately tense up. “Breathe.” I do as he says, willing myself to relax. “Nope, it won’t hurt. Not a bit. Just relax, baby, and I’ll make you feel good.”
His words should sound cheesy. If I read them in a romance novel, I’d probably roll my eyes, and I love the occasional romance novel.
But I am so thoroughly enjoying the way he speaks to me, and maybe that’s because no other man has even attempted such naughty talk. They don’t talk about blowing wads and squeezing come and juicy pussies and oh my God, he just slipped all the way inside me and I feel so incredibly full.
He pauses, waiting, his breathing harsh. I open my eyes to find him hovering above me, his eyes closed, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Again, the ick factor should be on high alert for me right now—not a fan of sweat—but I’m tempted to rub myself all over him so I can get just as sweaty as he is.
Clearly, I have a problem.
“Why aren’t you—doing anything?” I ask after a long quiet moment.
“I’m trying to keep my shit under control,” he says through clenched teeth.
&
nbsp; “What do you mean?” I’m a little confused.
“I’m afraid if I start moving, I’ll unleash on you, and it’ll be over in two seconds,” he confesses, the pain on his face obvious. “And I don’t wanna do that.”
I want him to do that. I want to see this man unleash on me. I’m sure it would be amazing.
“Just…move slow,” I suggest, wiggling my hips, sending him somehow even deeper, and we both groan at the sensation.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to move slow with you, Sus. And that’s a fact.”
My heart warms at him calling me Sus. No one has ever really called me that before. Even when I was a small child, my parents always called me Susanna. Never Susie or Anna or any type of nickname, beyond the occasional darling or sweetheart.
I grew up in a very formal house, and while silly nicknames were popular amongst all of my friends’ households, they weren’t in my house.
And that made me sad.
So Cannon calling me Sus touches my heart more than it probably should, but I can’t help it.
I sort of love it.
“Then move fast,” I whisper encouragingly. “Unleash on me. I don’t care if it’s over in two seconds.”
“I want it to last longer,” he says as he starts to move his hips. He pulls almost all the way out before pushing himself back in, a slow, delicious drag of hard, hot flesh that has my toes curling. “Fuck, there is no way I can make this last longer.”
With those words, he does as he predicted and unleashes on me. His hips pump at maximum speed as he fucks me thoroughly. There is no other way to describe it. He fucks me like he was born to do it, his muscles straining, his chest heaving, his cock spearing in and out of me, and all I can do is cling to him. Slip my legs around his waist to send him even deeper. Moan encouraging little sounds in his ear as I wrap my body around his. I can’t come up with words, not yet, I’m still too…I don’t know, embarrassed, maybe?
Thinking About You Page 5