Soon he was fully erect and pulsing against the back of my throat.
I sucked him deep, stroked him hard. I knew him well enough to know he liked his blow jobs best if I suffered a bit while giving them. That was easier to achieve when he was in charge – when he pulled at my hair and pushed my head to take him at his tempo.
Without his directing, I concentrated on his pleasure and considered any discomfort I had as a bonus. The more I gagged, the more my legs tingled and ached underneath me, the harder it was for me to breathe, the better I knew it was for him. For both of us.
He remained silent while I worked him up. When my hand started to cramp, I gripped his thighs and used only my mouth, bobbing up and down, my lips pressing tightly down the length of him. The first clue I had that my efforts were succeeding was when his muscles tensed under my palms.
The second clue was when his hand left the back of the swing and squeezed the side of my breast.
“Ah,” I moaned, the sound reverberating against his shaft. He bucked up into my mouth in response. Selfishly, I fell to my side, letting the blanket fall off my shoulder to offer him better access to my tits.
He took my offer, crushing the heel of his hand into my ample flesh as he pinched at my nipple so hard that tears pricked my eyes. So hard that my moans turned to sobs. So hard that I was wet. Dripping.
Then his hand was no longer on my tit, but between my thighs. He nudged my top leg up and pushed away the cloth barrier of my panties and shoved several fingers into me at once. He wasn’t gentle as he probed me, viciously stroking against the sensitive inner wall of my pussy like my itch was his own. Almost immediately, I was tightening around him. He knew what I liked too.
Or, more likely, we just liked the same thing.
I fought against the pleasure, trying to keep my focus on him, on his cock in my mouth, his crown at the back of my throat, but the more I attempted to ignore what he was doing, the harder he fucked me. My orgasm pushed against my restraint, threatening to burst like the dark clouds of a spring storm.
Just when I thought I couldn’t hold back any longer, when my rhythm had begun to stutter and my concentration waned, he spoke, his voice rough and raw as he gave me permission to let go. “Do it.”
At his command, I surrendered, erupting over his hand in a flood. My jaw went slack as I yielded to the pleasure, as I tumbled into ecstasy.
I was still trembling and blissed out when Reeve gathered me into his lap, facing out.
“On your knees,” he said. I obeyed, putting a shaky hand out on the arm of the swing to balance myself as he tugged my panties down my thighs. He notched his cock at my hole, then roughly pulled me down, sheathing him completely.
I cried out at the sudden fullness. He gave me no time to adjust, immediately adopting a rapid tempo that inspired my waning orgasm to rebuild. Had it really only been a day since he’d been inside me? It felt like so much longer. Like I’d been hungry for him for weeks. Like I’d been starving and now I was easily filled, easily glutted.
I fell back against his chest and succumbed to the onslaught of sensation. Every nerve in my body was alight. The blanket had been abandoned in the shift of positions and the cold air felt sharp against my hot skin. My nipples burned, goose bumps covered every square inch of my exposed limbs, and the sweat on my forehead felt like melted ice.
Reeve was lost to his own lust. With a hand over my mouth and another on my hip, he pounded into me with a relentless drive. I felt his mouth on my neck, felt his thighs tighten under mine, felt the tip of his cock reach so deep inside me that I thought he’d tear me apart.
And then he did – he hit me in a spot that sent the second orgasm ripping through me, shredding me into so many pieces that I was sure there were parts of me I’d never recover.
“You feel me,” he said while my cunt clenched around him like a vice-grip. “Right now you feel me, Emily. That’s where I am – inside you. All the time, I’m there. No matter whose bed you sleep in.”
I let out a sob, muffled by the heel of his palm. It was a cry of both pleasure and pain, of both release and imprisonment. He’d let my body soar, let me take flight amid the stars. But then he’d anchored me, yanking me back to him with only a handful of sentences. Maybe it was selfish how he made sure that no matter how far I drifted, I would always be tied to him, but I liked it.
Reeve reached his own finish on the tail of his speech. His tempo grew ragged, then, with a final thrust, he let out a feral grunt and came.
After, we stayed unmoving, our breaths creating a small haze around our mouths as hot air expelled into near freezing night. The sting of the chill became more noticeable as I settled, as well as the tingle of my feet, which had fallen asleep in my bent position. But when I started to move off of him, Reeve wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, so tight that I could barely breathe. The gesture had both romantic overtones and an edge of desperation.
I was grateful to be facing away from him, so he couldn’t see the tears pricking at my eyes. So he couldn’t know how much he moved me, how much he always moved me.
We went into the house together, climbing the stairs in comfortable silence. At the top, when it was time to part to our separate rooms, we hesitated together. With his eyes he invited me again. No, it was more than an invitation. It was a strong tug at my invisible leash.
But I stood planted, and though it wouldn’t have taken much additional force to pull me with him, he dropped my lead with a nod and turned toward his door.
“Reeve,” I called out quietly, unable to let him leave without giving him something.
He paused, his expression masked. “Yes?”