I start to move in earnest, pulling out and then slamming back into her so hard the headboard bounces off the wall a few times. “Yes, yes, yes!” she chants, the finger on her clit rubbing faster and faster as her pussy pulses and tightens around me.
I don’t stop. I just keep pounding into her, the sounds of our heavy breathing and skin slapping together filling the air.
The harder I pound, the tighter she becomes. “I’m going to come,” she breathes. Her hand is now rubbing back and forth, almost violently, over her engorged clit. “Harder,” she begs, pulling her legs back further as she tilts her hips up to meet my thrusts as she moans out her orgasm. Her pussy clamps down on my cock, pulsing and rippling around it as I move. The hand between her legs never stops, and the sensation of her climax coupled with watching her let go is the last straw for me. I continue to pound into her, bottoming out with each stroke, as lightning shoots down my spine into my balls, and I follow her over the edge. I come harder than I ever have in my life, so hard that I vaguely wonder if it might break the condom. Her orgasm hasn’t stopped yet, either, and her pussy is milking me, squeezing every single drop out of me.
With my cock still buried inside her to the root, I let go of her legs, wrapping them around my waist as I fall onto my elbows by her head. “That was…” I pant out, trying to catch my breath and gather my scattered wits about me, while she wraps her arms around my neck, bringing my weight down on top of her.
“It was,” she agrees, kissing my chin and then my lips between her own heavy breaths. “Definitely something we need to do again.” I don’t get a chance to agree with her, because her mouth has covered mine and all thoughts are gone as I lose myself in Lauren.
Chapter 21
Lauren
The light streams into my room, landing right on my face like the beam of a flashlight. I groan, trying to grab something to block it out. I reach for the covers, trying to bring them up to shield my face, but they won’t budge.
Soft butterfly kisses landing on my shoulder make me smile. Austin. Best. Fucking. Night. Of. My. Life. Well, besides having my children. Okay, best fucking sex of my life.
I don’t respond to the kisses. His finger pluck at my nipple, rolling it between them, waking my body up and making it ache for him. “I know you’re awake,” he says between kisses.
“I need food,” I reply. “No sex until we have food.” I move deeper into his embrace. His hard cock pushes against my ass.
After the first time, we took a nap, and he woke me for round two with his mouth between my legs before I wound up riding him like a rodeo queen. I think I shocked his ass when I suddenly swung off him, mid-ride, and remounted him, reverse-cowgirl style. I wasn’t surprised that when presented with my ass, Austin spanked it. No, what surprised me was how much I liked it. With his back to the headboard, me facing forward and looking at us in the mirror over my dresser was like watching my own personal porn. It was one of the hottest moments of my life.
Jake and I had what I always thought was an exciting and active sex life, but one night with Austin had me thinking that maybe it wasn’t quite adventurous as I’d thought. Despite the years we’d had together and the level of comfort I’d felt with him, I’ve never let go like that during sex before. But after my divorce, I knew the next time I brought a man into my bed, I would be asking for and taking what I wanted. That wasn’t something I did with Jake; with him, I followed his lead and took what he gave. It wasn’t bad per se, but I think I knew deep down that something had been missing in it for me.
“Food,” I repeat when his hand moves down my stomach to cup me. I ignore his hand and stretch my body. Muscles hurt in places that I didn’t know could hurt from having sex.
“Okay, I’ll go start the coffee.” He’s still trying to play with me. I slide out of bed and head into the en-suite bathroom in my bedroom. “I’m going to have fun playing with that ass later,” I hear him say right before I close the door.
After using the bathroom, I look in the mirror. My makeup is still half on; the mascara isn’t that bad, though a bit smeared. I take the time to remove it and wash my face. Tying my hair high up on my head in a messy bun, I brush my teeth. Once I make my way out, I immediately smell coffee.
Grabbing the shirt he wore last night, I put it on. It’s huge on me, but I leave the top three buttons undone and button the rest, leaving him plenty of room to reach in if he wants to. I head downstairs and into the kitchen.
He’s there, jeans on and buttoned, leaning against my counter, his feet crossed in front of him, drinking a cup of coffee.
His hair is tousled from sex and sleep, and a five-o’clock shadow has crept over his
