He hisses, but instead of pounding into me like I thought, he kisses me. His hands roam all over my skin, petting me and stroking me, setting every inch they touch on fire. His cock is still inside, hard as steel, but he doesn’t do anything with it, using only his lips, tongue, teeth and hands to drive me insane. And I was wrong earlier. I do get wetter. I’m embarrassingly, utterly soaked. I pull back from the kiss to whisper, “Please, Matt. You said you’d make me feel well-fucked.” His hands flex over my lower back, and his breathing grows rough. “Damn it, Jan.” “Make me feel well-fucked,” I
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