She knows exactly what she's doing, knows that once she has freed those gorgeous tits, my hands can't resist. The whole of me can no longer resist. I take both breasts in my hands, squeeze and roll her nipples between my fingers. She whimpers, arches again.
I burn a hot trail down her throat with my tongue. She sighs, long and slow, and her hands shove the shirt off my shoulders. It hangs at my elbows, but I won't let go of her perfect breasts to let it fall. Her fingernails dig into my shoulder blades just as I circle my tongue around one nipple.
Her breath catches and she lifts one knee to gently massage my confined hard-on. It's torture. Surely she's counting on it, returning the ecstasy and agony. If she thinks I'll fuck her like a bitch in a bar bathroom, she's sorely wrong.
I suck her nipple, nip at it with my teeth, and tiny moans escape her. I glance at her face. Her eyes are closed now. Her hair has mostly escaped its captivity and is splayed around her head on the tabletop. I bite down again and slide my now-free hand down her side. She writhes a little, increases the pressure of her knee against my cock, just the slightest bit. She's trying to incite me.
But this is not her game.
I leave another burning trail to her other nipple and lavish it with the same attention. My other hand follows the first, and they meet at the button to her denim shorts. The fabric clings to her damp skin when I pull the shorts and underwear down together. They stand no chance against the sins I'm about to commit. She has to release her leg hold on me to let me strip her, and I have to pull away.
As I drop her clothes to the floor, I travel her naked body with my eyes. She's perfect, just as I knew she would be. No tattoos as memories, just a few scars, a testament to the shit she's survived. I realize she's watching me now, eyes cracked open.
She starts to sit up and reach toward my shorts. I stop her, my hands on her tits again, and push her back onto the table. Her eyes come to life, that same temper I saw earlier and I smirk. She chose this, she'll deal with the consequences.
I lean forward, tease her lips with my tongue, and I relinquish one breast to slip my hand between us. I run a light touch across her clit and she shudders. She whines into the kiss I claim. She's so wet.
I dip two fingers inside and hook them. Her voice breaks free in a half-surprised moan. I massage in tight circles, and she tenses around me. I bite down lightly on the side of her throat, just in time to taste the vibration of her voice. Her breaths are coming quicker.
I slide my thumb upward, parting the folds of her defenses, slicking my touch. Her clit is swollen, waiting – so close.
I bite just a little harder, as I make answering circles with my thumb. My fingers are on her two most sensitive pleasure points, and my tongue is on her pulse. I can feel the pleasure building in her, and the way she starts cussing in Spanish nearly breaks my composure. Sure, I could fuck her now, and it would be amazing, but there's something she needs to know – the difference between a man and a boy.
Again she clenches around my fingers and her body arches off the table. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and there's the best hitch in her brow. If she never understood it before, she knows now to appreciate the harmony of muscle tension. Her body is a live circuit of push and pull. She curls her fingers onto the edge of the table and cries out.
She comes all over my hand, and she keeps coming, because I maintain the rhythm inside of her and on her clit. The cries that leak from her are borne of pleasure and the utmost pain. The escape she's constantly searching for is here within my grasp. I push her until her voice cracks, a near sob.
She's heaving for breath as I pull my fingers out of her and sweating, and I can no longer take it. So I shove off the rest of my clothes.
Her cheeks are tinged red. Her mouth is partially open. I pull her body to me with a firm grip on her hips and bury myself in her. She's so tight and wet, and I can only grunt as I begin to buck into her. She cries out hoarsely and I join her.
The heat, the impending mayhem, the competition – everything ceases to matter within the perfection of her. Soon she's answering my thrusts with her own and our bodies are pounding together. She's riding the line of another orgasm, I can tell by the way her muscles go hard. Her fingers are bruising on my lower back as she pulls us together repeatedly.
I fuck her until her voice is just a shell, until I can feel the evidence of her pleasure running down my legs – until the whole world falls away. Cosmic wrong or right no longer matters, the past no longer matters. There's no guarantee of anything from here and I don't even fucking care. I could stay here, in this moment, for eternity. Fuck Gram, and Josh, Freddy, Abuela, anyone and everyone who isn't this.
I fuck her until I can't stop the welling release, with all the rage and grace I've managed to repress until now. She's screaming when I lose it, when I pull back and come on her already-dripping pussy.
My energy fails, as I stumble back a few steps. For a stretch, I just stare as she slows her breathing, eyes still closed. I consider walking away, but my old faithful
