“Are you okay with me pulling out?”
Flashes of my dad and uncles’ sex education lesson come back to me. I remember being traumatised, along with the other females in our family.
If he says he’ll pull out, don’t fucking listen.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He lines himself up at my entrance before handing control over to me. I smile, sliding down his dick, inch by inch, taking in the wide girth. I feel stretched, feeling every ridge of his cock inside of me. It feels good. I moan, low, deep in my throat, my eyes closing as I savour every moment of him filling me. Not having a barrier between us… it heightens everything.
We should have done this before.
“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his head onto my shoulder. “So fucking tight.”
I’m hoping that’s a good thing.
Rising, I then drop back down, clenching around him. He cups my breast, lifting a little before sucking my nipple into his mouth; sucking, licking, biting. I run my fingers through the thickness of his hair, tugging hard as he toys with my nipple. Waves of pleasure shoot to my clit. It pulses, aches, desperately seeking climax.
“Oh God,” I cry.
I grind harder, the sway of my hips causing him to go deeper each time. Tilting his head up, he captures my lips. It’s wet, frenzied, leaving all thoughts to scramble together. I don’t know which way is up or which way is down.
That carnal need is building up inside of me.
People were wrong about sex being sensual; intimate. I have experienced the opposite. It had been detached, cold, cruel. This… This is all me and Drew. What makes the act sensual is us. It’s our connection; a powerful magnetism pulling us together. It feeds the fire that burns between us.
Everything we’re feeling isn’t because of the act, although it does help. It’s each other.
“More,” I plead, feeling brazen.
His eyes darken. “Stand,” he orders.
I lift off him, whimpering when his cock slides out of my sex. His cock is wet with my arousal, and I lick my lips, turned on more than I ever have been.
“Hold onto the bar,” he orders and I step forward, reaching for the bar on the treadmill.
A moan slips free when he grips the globes of my arse in his hands before ever so gently running his hands up the curve of my back. Pressing down on my shoulders, he pushes me forward and I go, stretching the muscles in my arms.
His hands stroke and caress as they run back down, the softness of his touch raising goose bumps on my skin. He only stops to once again squeeze the globes of my arse. It heightens the pleasure running through me.
“This arse has driven me crazy all night,” he divulges as he presses against me. I moan at the feel of his cock sliding through my sex. “Do you know what you do to me?”
“No,” I whisper, but I can only imagine it’s something close to what he does to me.
“I’m about to show you.”
His first thrust is cautious, gentle, and a moan of frustration bubbles out of me. His next thrust is harder, deeper, rocking me back and forth as he grips my hips punishingly. My tits swing from the force and I shudder in ecstasy.
Feeling the tips of his fingers in my hair, I tense, but then I feel my bobble sliding out, freeing my hair from the loose bun I had pulled it up in.
My core tightens the same time my knuckles bleed white around the bar. I want more. Need more.
Each rock of my body, the sound of our skin slapping together, is going to be my undoing. My knees threaten to buckle and sensing that, Drew’s fingers tighten around my hip, whilst is other presses down on my lower back.
His grunts have my pleasure spiking. They’re low, primal.
“Harder,” I cry out, my chest rising and falling as I slam myself back to meet each thrust.
His other hand slides off the bottom of my back, gripping my hip punishingly. He uses it as leverage, pummelling in and out of me with force that knocks the breath out of me. With each thrust there’s desperation and need, and I know he has been holding back.
I can feel it building.
The anticipation. The knowing of how good it’s going to feel, yet the sadness of knowing it never lasts.
Our moans, whimpers and grunts mingle together. Each time I cry out, tightening around him, his cock pulses inside of me.
Each time he slams inside of me, the deeper he feels. It’s ruthless, out of control, and I don’t want it to stop. He fills me to the hilt, causing my clit to pulse.
My core is winding so tight, my skin clammy, and the tingling sensation is driving every nerve ending on fire.
A glutaral cry slips through my lips, my legs locking as my lower half spasms with my orgasm. The shock of my orgasm has my back bowing, and has a cry of pleasure wrenching from my throat.
For a few moments, all there is, is pure bliss. A moment where no sound or anything can penetrate.
I float back down to earth just as Drew’s movements become unsteady. He thrusts once, twice, before he slides out, and the warmth of his cum spurts all over my arse and lower back. I moan, my pussy tingling in all the right places. I’m not sure if it’s because if feel dirty, naughty, but the action makes me want him again. And again.
He leans over to the bench and grabs a towel to clean me up. Spent and lacking energy, I can do nothing but grip the bars tighter, too afraid that if I let go, my legs will give out on me. Exhaustion hits me as I try to catch my breath.
“Come here,” he whispers, pulling me against his chest. He bends, kissing the crook of my neck before pulling back and turning me to face him. He locks his arms around me, and I look up, giggling with nervousness and happiness.
Amusement lights his eyes as he cups my cheek, and leans down, pressing a kiss overflowing with passion to my lips.
I sigh, pressing my body flush against his. He always manages to bring this side out of me. I have always been curious about sex. It had always intrigued me which is why romance is my favourite genre. The smuttier the better. But no one has evoked this feeling inside of me like he does. No one revs my engines like he does. And there has been no one in my entire life who gives me confidence the way he does. Not just with sex. Just being around him gives me a confidence boost. I never feel judged or mocked. He never gives me one of those ‘pity’ stares or the ones where someone’s looked at me like I’m a freak. If anything, he finds my quirks endearing.
Yet, when the words form on my lips to ask what this is between us, I freeze.
“That was—”
“Go out with me tomorrow night,” he rasps, tucking my hair behind my ear.
My eyes widen. “Do you mean like a date?”
His studies my face. “Do you think you are ready for that?”
My heart skips a beat, and I struggle to keep the smile off my face, so I don’t. I beam, leaning up on my toes.
He arches an eyebrow, his arms tightening around me. “It’s a charity event to raise money for The Shelter. I wasn’t going to go this year, but I’d like it if you’d come with me. As a date. But not if you aren’t ready.”
I melt in his arms. “Of course, I’d love to go out with you,” I tell him.
He bends down, meeting me halfway, his kiss bruising, punishing, yet filled with so much passion my toes curl.
I pull back, grinning like a fool.
I have a date.
A real one.