Do Me Right. Cindi Myers
a body part that would ever win awards for beauty.
“Oh, yes. I think you’ll do just fine.” She lay back again and slid her hands under her ass, lifting herself to a more acute angle, one that made her tighten around him more, so that his vision lost focus and his breath came in gasps.
“You like that?” she asked, as she squeezed him tighter still, then released.
His reply was a muffled grunt. He lowered his head and focused on the task at hand, aware of her soft inner thighs brushing against him, her sweet musky scent surrounding him.
He came hard, bucking against her, reaching out to grasp her hips, sinking his fingers into her soft flesh as he spent himself in her. He sank onto her, head on her chest, arms surrounding her in a hug. Some dimly heard portion of his brain told him he must be crushing her, but he paid no heed. He wanted her close to him in this moment. As close as she could be.
He didn’t know how long they lay together like that before she prodded his shoulder. “Roll over,” she ordered.
He complied, sliding out of her. Eyes still shut, he stripped off the condom, then realized he had no idea where to put it. “There’s a trash can in the bathroom,” she said.
He nodded. “Bathroom.” He wasn’t sure he had the strength to roll over now, much less propel himself upright and to the bathroom.
She took the condom from him and he opened his eyes in time to see her walking toward the bathroom, hips swaying, that gorgeous fall of black hair swinging in time to her movements. He closed his eyes again, smiling. Did he know how to pick them or what?
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