“Yes. Please.” Was my immediate response.
He palmed my breast, giving it a slow caress before closing his thumb and pointer finger over my nipple, squeezing hard enough to make my pussy throb again. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” I whimpered as he tugged again.
Tristan smirked, dropping his mouth to mine as he fished his wallet from the pocket without my panties in it. It got tossed somewhere once he’d maneuvered a condom out.
“I guess you’ve earned this today,” he said, and I started to roll my eyes until he pulled his shirt over his head, finally confirming what I thought was underneath his clothes. He wasn’t chiseled and carved, but he was definitely rock solid, and covered in beautiful ink that would have to wait for another time to explore.
My whole attention was needed for when he pulled down his shorts and boxers to reveal a thick, beautifully veined dick that most certainly did look like the kind you had to earn.
He chuckled at whatever he must’ve seen on my face as he grabbed the condom to put on.
“What?” I asked, shivering a little as he touched me to step between my legs, and rid me of the wrinkled dress I still, for some reason, had on.
“Your eyes went wide as fuck,” he said, biting down on his lip as he teased me, rubbing the smooth, condom-sheathed head over my clit. “You’ve seen one of these before, right?”
“One of these? No,” I answered, taking a fortifying breath as he lined himself up with my pussy.
He smirked, then pushed into me, filling me all at once with one firm stroke that snatched the air from my lungs. “Congratulations then… you deserve this.”
I hooked my thighs around his waist, rolling my hips to match his rhythm. With my arms around his neck, I let my head fall back, feeling like I must’ve done something very, very right if Tristan’s slow, deep strokes were what I deserved. He confirmed my assumption by grabbing the back of my neck again, dragging my mouth to his to whisper “good fuckin’ girl” against my lips as he pumped harder.
Those words seemed to unlock a whole new level of wetness, a whole new depth. Tristan pushed deeper, matching his strokes to the lapping of his tongue against mine as he drove faster.
Deeper still.
Harder.
I was hanging on to whatever I could, his biceps, his shoulders, his waist, his locs, too overwhelmed to settle on any one thing, or actually… anything.
Which was fine.
He had it – had me – completely under control, every adjustment, every touch, every shift making me wetter, making me shiver, dragging what felt like every one of my nerves to the surface to be stimulated and treated to the same pleasurable rush.
Rush.
A perfect word to describe the feeling that swept over me gradually, and then all at once, making me lose the ability – and will – to breathe.
To see.
To think.
There was nothing but feeling, nothing but heaven, nothing but the flood of wetness and moans of pleasure and that slight, blissful moment of pain as he slammed into me one last time and stayed there, his hips pumping as he came.
“Wow,” I whispered, when I could finally get my mouth and my brain back in sync.
Tristan chuckled as he pulled out of me, creating an absence I felt immediately. “I… feel exactly the same fucking way,” he said, picking up his shorts, but handing me my dress back before he put them on.
Which… for some reason… kinda made my little bubble of post-orgasm bliss fade.
I pulled the dress on, and got myself down from the counter while Tristan put his clothes back on. Finally, watching him grab his shoes, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You didn’t… suddenly stop liking me now that we’ve done that, right?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light like I was joking.
I wasn’t.
Tristan straightened up, tucking the shoes under his arm without actually putting them on. “Huh?”
“You seem in a hurry,” I explained, plastering on a smile. “And I was remembering your reasoning from a few weeks ago about why we shouldn’t do this…”
His confused expression softened. “Temp… I honestly assumed we were taking this show upstairs. I mean… unless I’m not invited?”
“No, you’re definitely invited, if you want. I just… this is dumb. Never mind,” I said, shaking my head as embarrassed heat rushed to my face. Reminding me that, for as much sexual experience as I had… intimacy was foreign to me.
And I was making a damn fool of myself because of it.
“I… feel like I fucked this up somewhere,” Tristan said, stepping toward me, and reaching out to grab me under the chin. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I assured. “It’s… really not you. It’s me. I’m making this weird.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I… it already is,” I said, blinking back sudden, frustrated tears. “And I don’t know how to—”
Fix it.
That would’ve been the rest of that statement if Tristan hadn’t kissed me, effectively shutting me up.
“Let’s order some dinner,” he said, when he pulled back, not giving me a chance to go back to obsessing. “We can get cleaned up, watch some TV, eat. I don’t know about you, but lunch feels like a long ass time ago,” he added, making me laugh.
And… shit.
Somehow, just like that… I wasn’t feeling quite so awkward anymore.
“Um… what do you want to eat?” I asked, a question he responded to with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. “For dinner,” I clarified, laughing again as he followed me up the stairs.
“Whatever your fine ass wants,” he answered, from too close behind me, and then suddenly his arm was around me, making it awkward as hell to get up the stairs.
But it was fine.
Hell… it was more than fine.
Which was a new experience in itself.
This man is a work of art.
I mean… I already knew he was fine, but the more I explored his body, intent on exhausting him to the point he couldn’t even think about cumming again without losing his breath, it was just… clear.
Congratulations to me indeed.
My fingers skimmed the smooth, graffitied expanse of his skin – wide shoulders and thick biceps, solid midsection and strong thighs, all covered to varying degrees with beautifully inked illustrations.
The star of the show though was his dick.
On my knees in front of him, I took a moment to admire the weight of it in my hands before I tried my damndest to swallow it all.
It was a good, good feeling, his thighs tensed, his hands in my hair, cursing and barely containing himself from burying his dick in my throat.
And then, not containing himself at all.
His fingers grazed against my scalp, blazing little trails of further stimulation as he held my head in place, pumping into my mouth. I put one hand between my legs, the other between his, teasing my clit and his balls in the same uncontrolled pace – no rhythm, no thinking, just pure… pleasure.
Tristan tilted my chin up, adjusting me so he could plunge deeper into my throat, making me gag around him. Just teasing wasn’t enough, so I pushed two fingers into my pussy, taking on his same frantic pace as he drove himself between my lips.