My ever-enthusiastic dick stands hard and thick. Kate leans up on her elbows, devouring me with her eyes. Her cheeks are tinged pink with desire, her lips parted, and her thighs rub together in anticipation. Fucking stunning. With a needy lick of her lips, her gaze settles on my c**k as she waits for me to make the next move.
And I think about how hot it’d be to see Kate touch herself. Maybe she needs the ‘I show you mine, you show me yours’ approach? I take my dick in my hand, and stroke it up and down. Kate follows my every move, mesmerized. After a few more slow pumps I say, “You know, I’ve never really liked champagne. But maybe I’ve just been drinking it from the wrong glass. We should test that theory.”
I pick up Kate’s glass from the bedside table and sit beside her on the bed. She reaches out and replaces my hand with her own, stroking me expertly, caressing the tip with her thumb.
And I can’t help but groan.
I raise the glass over her, tip it slightly, and pour the cold liquid between her br**sts. She gasps and her hand tightens around me in the most fantastic way.
Then I lean forward, lapping at the champagne infused juice. Over her sternum, around the supple base of her perfect frigging tits, I lick every drop, tasting the drink—and her. It’s a heady combination.
“Mmm…good stuff.”
And as much as I love the feel of her hand on me, I take Kate’s wrists and bring both hands over her head, so she’s lying flat on her back. Kneeling on the bed, I lean over her and dribble more of the mimosa onto the peaks of her br**sts and suckle hard, flicking at the nipple with my tongue—first one, than the other.
She writhes on the bed and moans, a needy, desperate sound that spurs me on.
A few more drops are poured on her stomach. Kate tenses reflexively, but relaxes again when my warm mouth glides across her skin, following the path of the sweet liquid.
Her moans turn to gasps as I lick and suck my way around her adorable belly button, then down to her thighs. And her gasps turns to high pitched whimpers as I nibble on the flesh of her thighs, inching ever higher.
Kate likes to get creative with the pu**y grooming. Today it’s a barely-there landing strip, which has me practically shaking to sink my face into it.
I don’t make myself wait long.
I hold the glass above her and pour the rest of the liquor between her spread thighs. Then I cover her with my mouth, sucking and licking, lapping up every trickle like an alcoholic consuming his last indulgence before going cold turkey.
I feel light headed from the taste, the fragrance, the smooth, slick feel of her pu**y against my tongue. I moan against her flesh and Kate cries out in carnal f**king joy.
I bring two fingers to her clit and rub it in firm, quick circles. Kate’s hips rise and push instinctively as she gets closer, in time with my tongue as it pushes in and out.
Her thighs squeeze my head and I grip her hips hard, lifting her against my mouth. She stiffens as one last, long, serrated moan escapes her lips.
Then she goes slack in my hands. Spent and satisfied.
And it still gets me. The undiluted gratification of going down on her. Of giving her bliss. But as happy as I am that I made her come, my own hedonistic craving pushes at me, driving me like the roar of a crowd at a college football game.
Go, go, go!
I rise to my knees and hook my arms under Kate’s calves, spreading her wide. Then I bury myself fully in one powerful push.
There’s nothing better than this—nothing on earth that feels this perfect. That first thrust, when my c**k is enveloped by Kate’s tight, wet, warmth—it’s rapture so intense, it borders on pain.
My head rolls back on my neck as I savor the feeling. Then I pull my hips back, sliding against her grip, and drive back in.
Using her legs for leverage, I f**k her hard, but slow. When I’m buried to the hilt I rock my hips side to side, rubbing my pelvis against Kate’s sweet spot, until she’s recovered from her first orgasm and climbing towards number two.
With each move of my hips, Kate cries out in harsh breaths.
“Yes!”
“Drew!”
“More!”
The pleasure tingles and builds, gathering low in my stomach. And when Kate arches her back and clamps down around me, I push forward a final time and pulse inside her as I groan and curse.
Out of breath, I collapse on top of her, and she presses her lips to mine in an open- mouthed, chest-heaving kiss. Afterward, I turn my head and pant against her neck.
With a small laugh she says, “Wow. So I guess you really missed me last night, huh?”
I smile. “What gave me away?”
I roll to the side and Kate snuggles against me. Once her heartbeat slows, she complains, “Now I have to take another bath. You made me sweaty.”
I run my fingers through her hair. “I like you sweaty. You should stay like this.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I smell.”
I press my face against her neck and inhale dramatically. “You smell like sweat and sex…and me. It’s hot. Eau de Cum kicks Chanel Number Five’s ass.”
For a guy, there’s something primordial about a woman covered in your scent—it’s the most primitive way of staking your claim. Of showing every other peckerhead that a woman is very much taken. It’s animalistic, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less arousing.
“That’s gross. I’m taking another bath.”
I chuckle. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Plus, it’ll give me a reason to make her sweaty again. Another reason.