I thrust in again, this time so deeply that I feel her nose press into my stomach, her lips and tongue reflexively swallowing and tightening around my base, and I could come like this, just like this, feeling that nose against my stomach and her head in my hands, and my tip being squeezed so tightly.
My balls draw up in anticipation, but I’m not ready to come yet. I want this to last forever.
Even though she’s not snapping or pushing, I sense she needs a breath and I pull back, letting her breathe, and she does with a gasp, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and smudging her eye makeup. She looks so beautiful right now, her makeup blurry and her hair impossibly tangled, and I take some of that hair in my fist now and pull her up—not hard, but hard enough that she scrambles to her feet.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and I taste traces of myself—salt and soap—and her mouth is wet and gasping. She kisses me back messily, desperately, as if she’s struggling against her own need to breathe, and I am practically clawing at the lace on her hips to yank her thong down. I finally manage to get it past her knees and then my fingers are there in her secret place, which is so impossibly wet right now. She’s so wet that her thighs are slick, and it’s pure instinct that makes me step forward and grind my dick against her. I feel the taut skin of her stomach, the silky curls between her legs, and then her hands are sliding between my slumped jeans and my ass again, pulling me even closer.
It’s an accident, or at least I think it is, the first time she raises up on her toes and my cock slips between her thighs. One second, I am grinding on her like a horny teenager, and the next second, my dick is squeezed between her wet thighs, which are so wet that I can slide in and out of them easily.
“Fuck,” I mumble, because it feels good, because I want it to keep feeling good, but thigh-sex isn’t exactly the hottest category on my website, and also it’s dangerously close to the real thing and that’s not the plan for tonight.
But then it happens again, and I stop caring. My hands are everywhere—inside her dress, on her ass, thumbing her nipples—and it feels so good to push between her thighs, especially with that wet pussy moving against the top of my shaft. Without me saying anything, she brings her feet together and crosses her ankles, making it tighter for me.
I hiss out a string of swear words, and she giggles, and I decide that I want to know what it sounds like when her giggles dissolve into moans. So I hook a hand around one of her thighs and haul it up to my waist, raising her up enough that I can bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth through the fabric of her dress.
She does indeed start to moan, and I’m sucking the tip of her breast as hard as I can, and we are both unconsciously squirming and grinding, and then all of a sudden it happens. I feel my swollen crown not just brush past her folds, but for the barest of seconds, push in.
“Shit,” I whisper, raising my head to look at her.
“Shit,” she agrees in a moan, and her face is a mask of desperate, frantic longing.
I can’t seem to pull out, even though I’m barely in, and then she says, “What if you did it just once? Felt the inside of me just once and then pulled right back out? That wouldn’t count, right?”
“Cass…” I say, my voice stretched to the breaking point. I can feel how wet she is against my tip, as if her pussy is kissing my crown, and I’m about to ignore everything I know I should do—like stop and step away and really, seriously stop—and just thrust home. But I can’t, and the reasons are legion: the show, plus we haven’t discussed sex yet, plus even if I were going to do this, I need to get a condom…
“Just once,” she pleads. “Then we can stop. But I can’t—you can’t stop now. Just once, Logan, please.”
And then she’s pulling me closer and murmuring all those dangerous words, just once just once please please please. And there’s no way in hell I can win this battle, even if I wanted to.
Which I don’t.
I never advocate not-thinking when it comes to filming porn, I never advocate shifting a scene’s acts outside of the agreed-on list beforehand, but I’m so far gone and we are so far outside of what constitutes a normal scene now that maybe God and the county of Los Angeles will forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I wrap an arm tight around her waist, press my hand to her cheek, and lock eyes with her as I shift my hips and then slowly, so slowly that it almost feels like I’m barely moving at all, press inside. The minute I truly breach her, she lets out a loud gasp, and I clap a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
Her head drops forward to lean on my shoulder and I keep going. I have to bend my knees and angle myself, reach down and hike up her leg again, but it feels so fucking good that I wonder how mad she’d be if I came right now.
Her pussy is tight, tighter than I could have ever imagined, and so wet that even with the squeeze of her channel I can slide in with almost no resistance. The flared edge of my crown drags against her g-spot and she moans and shakes against my hand, and then I’m pushing up and up and up, deeper and deeper, until her pussy is stretched wide around my base, her pelvis flush with mine. I grab her other leg and pull her up so that she’s got her legs wrapped around my waist and I’m supporting all her weight with my hands under her ass. I lean back a little so that I can look at where we’re joined, and then I look up at her.
“Cass?”
Her mouth is open and her pupils are huge and black. “Move in me,” she begs. “Just for a minute.”