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Authors: Samanthe Beck
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need to slap my face before, during or afterwards, go right ahead.”
“Oh, God. Okay.” She tightened her legs around his hips and rocked against him. “One last time…”
He murmured an agreement, even as he devoured her mouth, even as a part of him acknowledged the lie. Her taste, her scent, the weight of her wrapped around him, grounded him in some way he couldn’t understand or articulate, but he knew one last time wouldn’t be enough.
“Hurry,” she panted when they broke for air.
He almost laughed, because taking things slow wasn’t an option. A condom machine hung on the wall. He braced her beside it, and kept right on feasting on her mouth while he felt around in his pocket for change, dumped the quarters in the slot, and…waited. Nothing.
She stopped kissing him, turned, and blinked at the thieving metal rectangle, and then banged on the thing with the side of her fist. Still nothing.
“Stop.” He caught her hand before she could bang it again. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ve got a key.” He let her go and backed up a step—which was about all the space he had in the small restroom. Shifting his weight to his left leg, he swung his right leg out, and landed a power angle kick to the side of the machine. The flimsy lock popped, the metal door opened and a couple condoms fell into his waiting hand. He glanced over at her.
She had her hand flattened between her breasts and stared at the mangled machine. Then her gaze shifted to him. “Is there anything you can’t get into or out of?”
He considered the words an invitation, and spun her around to face the door. Her squeak of surprise only spurred him on. “You tell me,” he challenged, and tugged those snug, blue running shorts down just far enough to bare the extremely memorable ass beneath. She gasped, and then squirmed as he worked his hand between her thighs. A small cry came next when he strummed his fingers through the warm, soft, very wet valley and sank his teeth into one smooth, giving glute. Her palms flattened against the door and she rocked up onto her toes. He sealed his lips to her flesh and sucked the tender skin hard enough to leave a red mark. By the time he finished, the little cries had turned into a constant soundtrack, and the movement of her hips had become precise and determined as she worked herself against his fingers.
She was already so close. He could practically smell the orgasm on her. Practically see the energy of it gathering in her bunched-up muscles. Determined to push her straight on over, he used his free hand to grasp one perfect handful of ass cheek, spreading them, and speared his tongue into the tight little crevice.
“Oh my God!” She bucked, pumped furiously against his fingers, and then shuddered when he withdrew and proceeded to tease her with lightning-quick flicks. Her breath evened. The cries grew softer, and the muscles under his lips relaxed infinitesimally. He tightened his grip, which might have telegraphed his intention because she gasped, “Have mercy. Not again…”
“Yes, sweet Virginia, again.” He drove her up, up, up, until he had her dancing on the tip of his tongue, her lush clit pulsing against the pad of his finger. Then he circled one opening with his finger and the other with his tongue, and paused there, at the thresholds. She whimpered and froze. He waited a beat just to let what was about to happen sink in, to get a sense she understood he was going to storm her defenses from all sides. She pushed back ever so slightly—a small sign of impatience and need—and all the permission he required.
He stormed. She screamed, banged the door once with her fist, and came with a long, low, grateful moan.
Chapter Seven
Slamming head-first into the orgasm—and possibly the restroom door—sent Ginny into a momentary coma. No sight. No sound. Just wave after wave of sensation crashing through her with a velocity she couldn’t possibly withstand.
Luckily standing wasn’t an
“Oh, God. Okay.” She tightened her legs around his hips and rocked against him. “One last time…”
He murmured an agreement, even as he devoured her mouth, even as a part of him acknowledged the lie. Her taste, her scent, the weight of her wrapped around him, grounded him in some way he couldn’t understand or articulate, but he knew one last time wouldn’t be enough.
“Hurry,” she panted when they broke for air.
He almost laughed, because taking things slow wasn’t an option. A condom machine hung on the wall. He braced her beside it, and kept right on feasting on her mouth while he felt around in his pocket for change, dumped the quarters in the slot, and…waited. Nothing.
She stopped kissing him, turned, and blinked at the thieving metal rectangle, and then banged on the thing with the side of her fist. Still nothing.
“Stop.” He caught her hand before she could bang it again. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ve got a key.” He let her go and backed up a step—which was about all the space he had in the small restroom. Shifting his weight to his left leg, he swung his right leg out, and landed a power angle kick to the side of the machine. The flimsy lock popped, the metal door opened and a couple condoms fell into his waiting hand. He glanced over at her.
She had her hand flattened between her breasts and stared at the mangled machine. Then her gaze shifted to him. “Is there anything you can’t get into or out of?”
He considered the words an invitation, and spun her around to face the door. Her squeak of surprise only spurred him on. “You tell me,” he challenged, and tugged those snug, blue running shorts down just far enough to bare the extremely memorable ass beneath. She gasped, and then squirmed as he worked his hand between her thighs. A small cry came next when he strummed his fingers through the warm, soft, very wet valley and sank his teeth into one smooth, giving glute. Her palms flattened against the door and she rocked up onto her toes. He sealed his lips to her flesh and sucked the tender skin hard enough to leave a red mark. By the time he finished, the little cries had turned into a constant soundtrack, and the movement of her hips had become precise and determined as she worked herself against his fingers.
She was already so close. He could practically smell the orgasm on her. Practically see the energy of it gathering in her bunched-up muscles. Determined to push her straight on over, he used his free hand to grasp one perfect handful of ass cheek, spreading them, and speared his tongue into the tight little crevice.
“Oh my God!” She bucked, pumped furiously against his fingers, and then shuddered when he withdrew and proceeded to tease her with lightning-quick flicks. Her breath evened. The cries grew softer, and the muscles under his lips relaxed infinitesimally. He tightened his grip, which might have telegraphed his intention because she gasped, “Have mercy. Not again…”
“Yes, sweet Virginia, again.” He drove her up, up, up, until he had her dancing on the tip of his tongue, her lush clit pulsing against the pad of his finger. Then he circled one opening with his finger and the other with his tongue, and paused there, at the thresholds. She whimpered and froze. He waited a beat just to let what was about to happen sink in, to get a sense she understood he was going to storm her defenses from all sides. She pushed back ever so slightly—a small sign of impatience and need—and all the permission he required.
He stormed. She screamed, banged the door once with her fist, and came with a long, low, grateful moan.
Chapter Seven
Slamming head-first into the orgasm—and possibly the restroom door—sent Ginny into a momentary coma. No sight. No sound. Just wave after wave of sensation crashing through her with a velocity she couldn’t possibly withstand.
Luckily standing wasn’t an
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