“There’s nothing I don’t like about this.”
Those seven words were perfect. I have been called beautiful- that my eyes are such an amazing blue. I have been called sexy- that I have fantastic breasts. But never have I been posed above an attractive man, nine years my junior and felt like such a goddess. I am exposed like this. It is my first time straddling a man and feeling his hard manhood pushing against his jeans, desperate to get out. I am elated to feel him cushioned between my thick thighs. My weight that worried me for so long pleases him. It presses me tightly against him in all the right ways. He pulses, which delights me. I thought pulsing manhoods existed only in romance novels.
I feel his hand slide over my thigh and around to smooth over one of my butt cheeks. It feels possessive but I am unsure until I look down again. Captured. His eyes are piercing and while sad-dreamer is a familiar look on him, the upward thrust of his hips and the soft groan that follows shows that his is a different kind of tortured gaze.
I know that I can’t orgasm without feeling his skin on mine but I don’t care. I lose myself in his mouth and roll my hips so I can hear his sweet noises again.