Well, Actually

by Mazey Eddings

Reaching between us but never breaking the kiss, he positions himself against my entrance. He drags the head of his cock up and down, luxuriating in the wetness between my thighs. I start wiggling, needing more, needing to feel all of him. “Stay still for me, sweetheart,” he commands against my mouth. My body tenses as I try, the violent strike of my heartbeat making me flinch and twitch. “I love seeing you try so hard to be so good,” he praises in a low rumble, rewarding me with a deep surge of his hips. I throw my head back, nails clawing at his chest, swearing as he hits that perfect spot. With a labored grunt, Rylie retreats, only to fill me up again with a demanding thrust. My body inches across the couch as he fucks me, and without breaking his unsparing rhythm, he cradles the top of my head with his hand right before it jams against the armrest. Taking half a second to reposition, he lifts my shoulders so I’m slightly propped up. I’m overwhelmed by the sight of his body over me, in me. The tension in his arms as he holds himself up, the clench of his jaw, the brush of his chest against mine as he drags himself out of me again. Rylie’s breath is ragged, lips wet and parted, color high on his cheeks. His eyes lock with mine for a beat, and the intensity, the need, has me clenching tightly around him. His pupils eclipse his irises, nostrils flaring. He reaches for me, fingers dragging down my cheek and then gently gripping my chin. He carefully tilts my head down so my...