In the moment that I’m deepest, she lets out a throaty groan. “Oh yeah…just like that. Again, Benji. Fuck me again.”
She scrapes her hands through her hair, clutching it at the scalp and arches her back off the mattress. She’s gasping as I drive into her. Again and again I thrust hard and deep and slow until I’m lost in the rhythm, drowning in the way my cock pounds into her and the primal way she groans at each resounding slap of flesh on flesh.
“Holy shit…” I moan, feeling my balls tighten and my cock begin to ache and my muscle shake, “I’m close.”
“Don’t stop, Benji, don’t you dare stop,” she growls though gritted teeth. “Keep fucking me until you come.”
“What about you?” I ask, knowing somehow that she’s not anywhere close.
“Oh…I’ll get mine,” she says, her eyes dark and gleaming with promise. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll get mine.”
“Get it now, then,” I tell her, not slowing my rhythm. “Touch your pussy, Echo. Come with me.”
Her fingers dive down between her thighs and I feel her swiping at her clit, and now her growls grow louder and higher-pitched second by second, and her hips start to circle, meeting me thrust for thrust now, where before I think she was just taking it from me. I feel a distant throbbing in my knee, but it’s nothing in comparison to the aching pressure in my balls. I start to lose my rhythm right as I feel her pussy clamp and pulse around my cock, and now her fingers are flying madly around her clit and she’s groaning non-stop, eyes squeezed closed, spine arched off the bed, and her legs close around me, clenched in the throes of her building climax.
“I’m coming, Ben!” she shrieks, breathless, “oh fuck, oh fuck, right now Benji, I’m coming right now…”
The way she says that name, that nickname I never thought I’d be able to hear without hurting, but the way she says it feels good, feels like it belongs to her now.
She screams loud and her feet come off my shoulders and plant in the mattress, pressing her upward, and then she’s locking her heels around my back and I’m falling forward, all my weight on my one good knee, the other leg extended. I have to be crushing her with so much of my weight on her like this, but her hands clutch and scrabble at me, pull me closer, scratch at my ass to get me moving harder and faster and she’s thrusting up into me wildly, and all can do is try to keep up with her. I’m grunting like an animal as I feel my sac tighten and explode, and then I’m pouring myself into her, emptying my balls into her tight pussy, and she’s biting at my ear and my shoulder, her nails clawing down my back, and my cock is pounding into her crazily—slapslapslapslap—wet squishing sucking heat and clenching muscles and sweat and the smell of sex and her breath on me and I’m biting her nipple until she shrieks in equal parts pleasure and pain.
I have a realization right then, at the climax of my orgasm: she likes it kind of rough, and she likes it when I take control.
I file that away for later, and we move together, finding a synchronized rhythm as our mutual orgasm shudders and begins to fade.
Finally, she’s still and gasping raggedly for breath, and I’m collapsed on her, limp and empty and sated and amazed. My knee fucking kills so bad it’s hard to breathe, but I don’t care. The pain is worth the pleasure.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Benji,” she pants, her hands resting proprietarily on my ass in a way that does something shuddery to my heart.
“That was…” I start, but I don’t even have the right words for what that was.
“Intense,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah,” I agree. I start to move off her. “I’ve got to be crushing the actual life out of you.”
She tightens her grip on my ass. “Uh-uh. I kind of like it.”
“Being crushed?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Call me crazy.”
I grin, my mouth curving against the soft flesh of her breasts. “Crazy girl.”
I don’t know how much time passes with us lying like that, her buried beneath me, her hands roaming up my back and always returning to my ass.
Eventually she fakes a pained groan and pushes at me. “All right, you big lunk. Get off me so I can go pee.”
I roll to my back, gasping a groan and flexing my knee, but keeping my eyes on Echo as she shimmies off the bed. I watch her fine round ass sway, and then I hear her pee and wash her hands, and she’s coming back toward me, big tits trembling and rocking side to side as she strides toward me. God, even the way she walks is seductive and sexy and mesmerizing, like there’s music I don’t hear and she’s dancing to it.
She lies down beside me, tucking a hand under her head, resting her other palm on her diaphragm. She stares at the ceiling, and I just watch her breathe—or more truthfully, watch the way her chest swells and her breasts shift with each breath. I just can’t get enough of looking at her, and that does something to my heart, to my gut, to my instincts and my head, to my everything.
I grew up with Kylie, I was in love with her for six, almost seven years and there wasn’t this intense attraction, even to her. It honestly scares me, because I don’t know this girl at all. I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, and she’s hard to read. She doesn’t wear her thoughts or emotions on her face, so all I have to go by are her words and actions, and we all know how misleading those can be in regards to a person’s real feelings. I feel this starvation when it comes to Echo, like I’ve been hungry my whole life, living on an empty stomach, wasting away and living off my own insides, and Echo is a plate of food set in front of me. I want to gorge myself. I feel ravenous and wild. The intensity, the potency of my physical attraction alone is…frightening. And I want to know her, want to be able to read her emotions on her face and know her physical cues and know what she’s scared of, and what she wants and needs, I want to know, I want to know. But I don’t know how to ask, how to tell her what I’m feeling, because I’m feeling so many powerful things and they’re all just too much.
“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.
She pivots her head to look at me. Her face is blank at first, as if she’s only just now registering that I even spoke, and then she smiles faintly. “Just that I like it here, in your room. In this bubble of you and me. I don’t want to leave it.”