Strength free porn video

Crystal blue eyes. The type that on another girl could look dramatic or vulnerable. Even soul piercing. But squinted by a smile too small for her boxy face and caked with a thick rim of black makeup, she appeared exactly how she really was: trying too hard.

“Just this once.” Giggling, Blake’s blonde girlfriend rounded the desk countertop. Craned her neck to look up at him as she pulled the white drawstring of his swim shorts.

So predictable. But Blake felt his dick warm and thicken.

He glanced out the office window into the pool deck. Watched the arcs and gentle splashes of the woman streaming the pool freestyle. In the months she’d been coming here, she never talked to anyone else. Never missed a workout. Never gave up. Just got stronger. Faster.

“Don’t worry,” Hailey squeaked through heavy breathing. “She won’t see.”

Her nails scraped his hips. Fingers cinched his waistband. Blake turned his attention to her as she tugged his swim shorts down with her. He rested his palm on the top of the desk, just above her head as she smiled up at him.

“Want me to be your bad girl?” Between consonants, her breath blew across his cock like musical notes.

If I hadn’t already fucked every orifice you own, only for you to throw yourself at everyone like the attention whore you are, I might buy that good girl gone bad bullshit. God, I gotta break it off with this chick soon.

But her tongue was hot and slick as it slid down his shaft. And fuck if he didn’t look up at his classmate’s mother as she took a break at the end of the swim lane and kicked backward, her taut, tattooed ass breaking through the ripples of aqua.

“Oh... suck my cock, you dirty whore.” Blake slid his fingers over Hailey’s temples and gripped her fine blonde hair at the roots, compelling her to gasp and giggle. “Make me proud.”

*
Everything came down to seconds. For her present. For her future.

For herself.

Meg held onto the rough edge of the pool. Kicked her feet behind her along with the rhythm of the clock until the red secondhand hit four.

Go.

Flipping around, she took a deep breath, submerged below the cool water, and propelled herself from the pool wall. Water broke at her body, flanked her sides as she wavered her torso and legs until her lungs demanded sustenance. She came up for air, head turning to the side as her opposite arm immediately crested and sliced through the water. Then her face was in again, her goggles fogging as she struggled to maintain a straight line.

Don’t be a pussy, she chanted to herself as her body protested. Shred. Win. Be stronger. Harder. Go.

She repeated the mantra every time she felt like giving up, until her 1500 yards were over and she propped her forearms up on the rough pool deck. Pushing her goggles over her forehead, she panted and stared at the clock.

A creak screeched through the enclosed pool room, the familiar sound of the office door. The lifeguard's petite blonde girlfriend darted out, a grin on her face. Thick black eye makeup dusted half moons under her stunning blue eyes. She wiped at the corner of her thin lips. Tight, tanned ass cheeks peeked under her white cut off shorts, stretching and jiggling as she beelined to the parking lot.

God. To be young and have no cellulite again.

The office door squawked again as the blonde disappeared outside. Meg looked up. Six feet of ripped muscle stood before her, tying the drawstring of his red lifeguard shorts.

“Miss Hickman?” Blake cast a rich, white smile down at her. “Finished?”

The little blonde girlfriend popped in her mind. How she’d wiped her mouth as she’d left. I doubt I’m the only one who finished.

She hoisted herself out of the water, stumbling as she stood. Huge, warm hands gripped her waist, fingers wrapped around to graze the top of her ass. Glancing up, she leveled a stare into his emerald eyes.

Her abdominal muscles contracted as she sucked a breath between her teeth, making her lower abdomen brush against her wet suit and her kegels tighten. It felt like her body melted her swimsuit off and she stood naked in front of him.

It’d been a long time since she let a man touch her.

His bowed lips curled up, driving dimples into the cherub cheeks of his unlined skin, the cocky face of a bad boy jock used to charming teenage girls out of their panties. Not an athlete with an agenda to climb higher in life like her son Graham, but one who used his looks and charisma to get pussy and his brawn to bully. Someone who cared about nothing but himself. One of those guys she used to hate in high school.

With a laugh, she raised her eyebrows at him and put her hands over his. Withdrew them and extended her arms to push his wrists against his stomach. Heat surged between her legs as the soft curls of hair trailing south from his belly button brushed her fingers.
He’s as young as my son. And he’s not my type.

“Thank you for staying late for me, Blake. I appreciate it. I’m finished.”

*
Blake’s girlfriend’s bedroom was years younger than she was. Cream walls with Pepto Bismal colored borders. Three stuffed animals on the pillow. But furry handcuffs peeked out from beneath them and a joint burned in a glass ashtray on the sill in front of the cracked window. From the past, he knew a bottle of Fireball lived in her bottom desk drawer.

“Hailey, it’s not gonna work out. I’m trying to get away from partying and all that shit. It’s just not where you are. You know that.”

The blonde scoffed. “I’m so much more than that.”

Sure.

“Right now, that’s the phase you’re in. There’s nothing wrong with exploring. I’m just looking at the future. Sports. College. I can’t have distractions.”

“Oh?” She grinned, her smile testing the boundaries of her cheeks. “Like last year, before we were serious?”

Serious. It took everything in him not to laugh. He’d just needed her to be available to him and at least attempt to remain faithful. What was serious when you were eighteen and going into college states away?

But yeah. Distractions. Like her in that sky blue bikini earlier on the beach, flirting with every guy and girl that walked by. Not to mention trying to resist partying with her instead of being responsible.

God, he hated being responsible.

Hailey hooked her finger under his belt and pulled him backward with her until she sat on the bed. Her fingers flanked his cock, moving up and down until he hardened. Biting her pale, glossed lip, she wrestled his belt open. “I thought you liked distractions.”

“That’s the problem.” His voice was husky as he looked down on her. “As you’re aware.”

Running her tongue across her lips, she unhooked the button to his khaki shorts. Let her hand drift down his fly, making his cock surge. “Mmmhmm. Remember when I took your coke when the cops came? I kept you out of jail. Me. It’s why you love me, because you know I’ll always take care of my baby.”

He grated his teeth, barely able to stand her idiocy.

But she stroked his dick again, looking up at him with those slutty made up eyes, and lowered his zipper. Opened his fly and shoved his pants down.

“You love me.” She grinned, her tiny teeth sparkling in the dim light.

She looked so trashy-cute from this angle, sitting on the very edge of the bed. Bent over to show her cleavage in the skimpy white tank as she tugged his boxer briefs down.

Fuck it.

Plunging his hand into her silky hair, he tightened his fist and yanked backward. Eyes widening, she gasped. Giggled. Blake grabbed his thick, hard cock with his free hand and slapped her face with it, then rubbed his oozing cock across her mouth.

One last time. 

“Open wide. I’m gonna fuck your pretty face.”

*
Meg’s past was a cannonball dragging behind her ankle.

The torch she carried inside burned for the present, the future.

Herself.

Push it.  Music blasted through her earbuds, legs pounding the pavement in time with the bass. She checked her watch. Ten minutes per mile. Straightening her shoulders and neck, she powered up her pace.

Sweat streamed past her temples, soaked her lower back and chest. Long ago she’d embraced heat like this differently, sweating under stage lights, humidity, and cigarette smoke. Worked the stage with her voice and guitar until her throat was raw. And loved a man who loved cocaine enough to die for it.

Blake reminded her of him.

Harlan.

Block it. I’m not a statistic. Mind over body. No distractions. Go.

Fury blazed her guts, drove her faster. The world distorted like a fishbowl with the rapid fire of her sneakers against pavement. Her lungs screamed, legs like lead, begging for a break. For her to give up even as she spotted the end of the run.

Fuck that.

Too soon and not soon enough, she powered down the sloped driveway into a parking lot and slowed. Legs gelatin, she jogged the perimeter of the square lot until she could slow to a walk. Stopped at the outer edge, shaded her eyes from the falling sun to see the navy blue water shimmer in its serpentine twine between beds of green reeds.

Meg felt the tension inside her release. Moments baked by in the Florida sun until cold sweat trickled along the inside of her ankle. She found her chest no longer heaved for breath. Smiling and exhausted, she wiped the sweat from her temples and headed for her car.

Walking into her quiet apartment ten minutes later, she dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and stripped her tank off. Mopped her face with it as she made her way to the hallway.

The bathroom door opened, light spilling out, and Blake Haas stepped into the hall, scrubbing his wet brown hair with a hand towel. A white towel slung low at his waist. Water slicked his chiseled body, rivulets sliding down each crevice. The dips of his hips. Abs. Pecs. Balanced on the precarious slope of his nipple.

She froze.

“Miss Hickman.” His brows rose, eyes widening in a half second before returning to composure.

“Downey,” she corrected automatically.

Blake draped his hand over his middle, the hand towel hiding his sculpted abs. “Ma’am?”

Ma’am?

Meg felt her neck tense. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh. Uh.” He lifted an arm, the movement outing the definition of his muscles, and pointed over her head toward the front door. “Graham and I just went for a run. He’ll be right back. Audrey needed a ride home.”

The fuck was he thinking, leaving Blake here?

The air conditioning kicked on, icing her sweaty pores and making her nipples tight. She folded her arms over her chest. Willed herself to keep a stern expression. To not look him over any more than she had already. “Okay. Well, move along. You’re not the only one who needs a shower.”

* 
Let her go.

Blake’s lungs begged for even the smallest toke of weed. He could almost taste it.

His back against the cold dresser, he looked around Graham’s small room. A twin sized bed, made. Dirty clothes in a laundry hamper. A few actual books on the nightstand. Silver laptop underneath them. Nothing on the walls.

It was like the room was just a space. Like no one really lived here. As if the guy thought he was above this place.

Blake heard the faucet handles squeak in the bathroom across the hall and froze. Listened hard. Thousands of beads of hard water pelted the bathtub in unison. The shower door rumbled. Paused. Then rumbled back, surely enclosing her body inside.

She’s naked. All the possibilities of how she might look ran through his mind. He covered his semi-hard cock with his hand and closed his eyes.

His cell chirped. Jarred him back, all his nerves on edge.

Letting out a breath, Blake crouched to his dirty clothes on the floor. Retrieved his phone from his shorts’ pocket and let his towel fall.

"Hey man, Audrey needs me to run her around a couple places. I’ll be back soon, but my mom will probably be home any minute. Let me know if you have to go. I’ll text you when I drop her off."

Graham. God, even his text messages were grammatically correct. Did the kid have any flaws? Ever even struggle? Soccer star, longtime girlfriend. Honors classes. Never did drugs. Never drunk. As responsible as an old man.

A parent’s dream.

Dropping the phone on his pile of clothes, Blake stood and leaned his shoulders against the dresser again. Palmed his rising dick.

He needed Graham, needed the good influence. But the guy's mom…

Blake gripped his emboldening cock. Thought of her in the hallway, the kitchen light behind her making the sweat on her body twinkle. The ink wrapping her arms and legs, he finally saw, climbed the sides of her torso like ivy. Left her abs free, defined only in muscular blocks of tanned flesh. Small lines stretched across her neon yellow sports bra to accommodate her tits. The hem of her billowy jogging shorts whispered at the crux of her powerful thighs.

His heart pounded, fist matching its pulse. Straining to hear the static of the shower, he turned toward the dresser. Propped himself up with his free hand and closed his eyes as he pumped his dick.

Pre-cum wet his shaft with each stroke.

He thought of her face as he’d lay her back and penetrate her. Her guard down, dark brown eyes looking into his. Perfect mouth open wide.

No. Not like that.

Her guard never dropped. She’d stare at him with the same ferocity she used in her workouts. Challenge him. Meet every thrust, every kiss, every grasp. Clench her pussy around his shaft and use him for everything he was made of, pouring heat from her body to his.

“Fuck.”

Blake felt his balls tighten. Holding the base of his shaft, he straightened. Snatched a shirt from the top of the dresser. Covered his cockhead just as white hot cum exploded through him. He ground back a groan deep into his chest and fought for breath as his hips drove into the cloth.

Seconds passed before the room came into focus. Twisting around, he sagged against the cold dresser and stared at the window, at the way sunlight forced through the frames and eyelets of the blinds. Slowly mopping his cock, he shook his head. Balled up his shirt and glanced down to fastball it into his open gym bag before looking back at the window again.

She doesn’t take me seriously.

He thought back to all the teams he and Graham had been on, never remembering a man accompanying her to a game.

But there was one he could never forget. Winter. Basketball. State championships. Everyone in long sleeves, her tattoos were hidden. It was the one game Blake’s dad picked him up from. He’d seen his father approach her with his usual rich-guy swagger, flash her a smile. She smiled back, said a few words, and turned. Licking his lips, his father leered at her ass as she walked away. But Blake had seen her face as she left him behind, rolling her eyes.

She wasn’t the type to be won over by money or privilege. As he saw minutes earlier, not swayed by his physique itself.

It made him want her even more.

*
This is ridiculous.

Meg hated changing in the bathroom. Hated the condensation, the steam choking her lungs. Yet here she was, her shorts tangling in the cling of water and sweat on her skin.

By the time she was dressed and had her gnarled long hair up in a clip, she was stewing in anger and frustration.

Yanking open the door, she stepped into the air conditioning and took a deep breath.

And smelled food.

Blake stood in her kitchen. Shirtless. Young. Ripped.

Ugh. Chill out, Meg. He’s just a kid.

As if on cue, the seventeen year old looked up at her. His bowed lips pulled up at the sides, putting a row of faint creases in his cheek. “Hope ya like eggs. Breakfast burrito for post work out snack?”

Just a kid.

“Sure.”

His smile widened, the white of his teeth shocking against his olive complexion. He turned his gaze back to the stove, scooping the cooked eggs to the side to make way for the soupy yolk. A few strands of hair dangled over his forehead.

A seventeen year old kid, cooking her a snack in her apartment the day after he seemed like he was trying to create a ‘moment’ between them.

Yeah. Real innocent.

The echo of his hands still burning on her hips from the day before, she dropped her palm on the back of a table chair. Let’s get down to it.

“I’ve heard about your drug issues. I don’t want my son involved in that.”

His head snapped up. Meeting her eyes, he opened his mouth. She held up a hand.

“Thing about Graham is, I don’t need to step in. He’ll never be that guy. And thank God. Fuck, I’m more flawed than him.” Shrugging, she leaned her butt against the old square table. Saw the quirk of his brows just before he looked back down at the stove and she smiled. “So why would a guy like you want to hang out with a guy like him?”

“Damn. You… just get right to the point, don’t you?” Shoulders hunched, he scraped the eggs from the pan onto two plates.

“Yeah, well. My compliance with society’s requirement of being overly polite and politically correct ends at my doorstep.”

He laughed, a husky sound that quenched something inside her yet scraped only the edge of her trust. “Yeah? Sure you mean that?”

She crossed her arms, bunching the T-shirt under her breasts. Fisting her hands, she straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes. So tell me. Why are you really here?”

After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.”

Swiping the plates from the counter, he walked over to the table. Set them down, brushing her arm with his chest before standing straight again. Close. So close, every time she took a breath her elbows hit his chest. His hazel gaze was like a hypnotizing mist.

“Graham’s a good influence on me. I need that... But if you must know, I see you.”

“You see me.”

“Yeah.”

“Translation: you want to sleep with me.” All she could focus on were his bowed lips. Sensual. Sexy. Full of promise.

He’s a kid.

“Yeah, I see you. Your determination. Your struggle. Strength.” He smiled and she bit her lip, sneaked a peek at the defined mounds of his pecs. The way his pelvic bones invited her to look further south, under his red nylon shorts. “Your sexiness. And your reluctance to be that.”

Her kegels clenched. Dizzy, she looked up at him. “And the good influence?”

“If I’m going to get into a Division One college, I need all the help I can get. I screwed off long enough. I’m focused now.”

“One goal at a time?”

His eyebrows knit. Head cocked to the side, he palmed her cheek with surprising softness. “What does that mean?”

“You maybe do or don’t do drugs anymore—“

“Don’t.”

“—But yet now you’ve got your head set on fucking your good influence’s mother. Mr Bad Boy, right? If you’re this focused on short term goals like that, your head isn’t on the end game.”

“Think so?”

His tongue darted between his lips, shining them with saliva. She clenched her fists again to keep from reaching for him. Then he leaned down. Tilting her face up, she shut her eyes as his mouth brushed hers. His lips were soft, his kiss sure, coaxing her to kiss back. He stepped closer, body pressing against her folded arms. The line of his hardening young dick skimmed her stomach, lighting her on fire.

It’s been so long. Too long. Her arms slackened. She found herself unwinding them, sliding her hands around his trim, warm waist.

“Maybe I have more than one long term goal.” His breath swept her face with the words, his voice uncertain. “You’re not only a conquest to me. I see you. And sometimes… I think maybe you see me too.”

The air was thick. Hard to breathe.

Seventeen, Meg. Seventeen.

“Yeah? What do you want to do about it?” Entranced by his proximity, lust laden eyes and kiss, the whisper was out before she could stop it.

A metallic thud thunked in the room next to them. The creak of the front door.

“Mom?”

*
Fuck it.

One day had passed, and one day changed everything.

Blake hit “send” on his phone and curled it in his fist on his lap, steering with his left hand. Memories of bourbon and gin on his tongue, weed in his nose. He needed anything, anything, to fuck him up enough not to feel or think.

“I didn’t work my whole life to have a loser son. You’re an embarrassment to this family!” his father had screamed the night before.

He ground his teeth together, jaw tight. Pushed back the punch to his heart at the memory, the idiotic emotional reaction to a man who was his father in name only. The guy who’d always neglected his family. It shouldn’t have this hold over him.

But then he’d seen his mother’s face. Bowed. She couldn’t even look at him.

His phone dinged. Holding it up to the right of the steering wheel, he depressed the home key with his thumb to see his new text.

“Got all ya need,” Adam, his dealer, bragged.

Nodding, he felt a smile thin his lips. Yeah, fuck it. What did this sobriety shit ever do for me?

“OMW,” he thumb-typed, then let the phone drop to his lap. Gripping the wheel with both hands, he stared at the road full of blazing lights and lemmings.

“I know you’re trying, son,” Coach Bridges had said an hour earlier. “It’s just not enough for a Division One school. Now, there’s no shame in that. But if you want a scholarship, you gotta change whatever’s holding you back. You can’t just be good. You gotta be great.”

“Yeah, fucking awesome,” he muttered, turning into the sprawling suburban subdivision. “Like what, Graham fucking Hickman?”

Life was just so easy for some people. Just natural wonders of the goddamn universe. Then there were people like Blake, who had to struggle and work their asses off for everything, no matter how many privileges they were supposed to have had.

Riding the road’s curve on his brakes, he glanced ahead to the right, to the house he’d stopped by hundreds of times.

A gleaming silver Civic sat in the driveway.

He felt his jaw drop, the cold AC blasting his mouth. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

But he slowed to an idle near the driveway. Saw the familiar little pink heart in the lower corner of the back windshield. Hailey's car.

The urge to disappear became so strong the frame of his vision shook.

“You can’t just be good. You gotta be great.”

Coach Bridge’s words echoed in his head and he thought of Graham’s mom. Strong. Determined. Smart. Hot. The time he’d seen her tumble from her bike when a truck buzzed too close. But she got back up. Didn’t look around to check who’d seen. Didn’t even brush herself off. Just got back on, blood trickling from her skinned knee, and flew.

You gotta be great.

Blake glared at Hailey's car. At Adam’s parents' house behind it. Felt his upper lip sneer. “Fuck this. Fuck both of you.”

Tossing his cell on the empty passenger’s seat, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pressed the gas. Careened past well manicured lawns and curvy roads until popping out on the main avenue. Headed south until everything with a concrete foundation fell into the ether behind his truck. Small palms, perched on high sand dunes, lined the road.

He turned into a lot, slammed the car into park. Tensing, straining his muscles until he felt his lips curl at his gums, he pushed the fire bursting within him into the pit of his stomach. Emitted a guttural growl and threw open the truck door. Leapt out, slammed it behind him.

Be great. Like Graham. Like his mom. Bad ass. Fierce.

His legs were moving before he willed it. Up the lot’s driveway. Onto the asphalt and across. He blazed through the palm blades and marram grass shredding his calves. Labored up the resisting sand dunes until the lukewarm wind took hold.

He bolted into a run when he saw the ocean. Pushed through footfalls in the beach under the overcast sky. The fire pit of anger exploded in his guts, flames following livewire synapses to the brink of his body. Wet sand burst under his sneakers, splatted his calves. The smell of salt water bit into his nostrils as his lungs begged for more air.

Blake flew until his fury petered into smoke, his quads and calves burning. Mind blank, he slowed and turned around. Propelled forward again, fatigue weighting his bones.

The beach was hazy, visibility swallowed by the storm creeping in from the crashing ocean. But he saw her. Neon yellow sports bra. Skin swathed in ink. She switched direction just as he did, but there was no hiding the tats on her tanned legs. The feminine curves of her muscles. Her thick black hair, pulled into a high ponytail.

She jetted faster. He increased his pace, feeling his skin jerk with each impact, time and distance a blur until an off-white patch peeked through the knee-high, wispy grass feathering the dunes. The trail.

Well, she followed me here. She can do it again.

Blake veered toward it, slowed as he ascended and stopped at the first dip to collapse on the ground beside the trail. Plunging his hands into the fine, hot sand, he sucked in breaths like he was dying. He turned around, his back to the dune, and stared into the vines and palm fronds webbing the sand. Willed her to appear.

Come on. Make my fucking day.

*

Why did I follow him out here?  Meg trudged up the dune, cramps squeezing and releasing her calves. I shouldn’t care.

She’d known Blake off and on for years. The only kid whose parents she’d never met at games. His moodiness had increased as he’d grown up, but she’d never seen him out here before, never seen the storm on his face he had in the parking lot. Her own workout completed or not, she had to go after him.

A cold raindrop splashed her shoulder as she reached the top of the dune.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye.

Blake.

He stood, wiping his hands on his red shorts. Sweat poured down every curve of muscle, taunting her hand to follow. Lips quirking, his cheeks flushed in dark pink just below high cheekbones. His eyes penetrated hers as if they could see every debased desire she’d ever had and promised to quench them.

Not a kid. Pure, unrelenting man.

Feeling her nipples tighten, she froze her arms to her sides. Her body screamed to be touched. The sand gave way under her feet, sliding her down the dune as she watched the solid panel of his rippled abs pump each breath like a beating heart.

He sauntered toward her. Hitched his chin. “You followed me.”

“I was on a run.” She forced herself to look only into his face. To be the adult. Be responsible. To forget the other day when he kissed her, forget when she lost her cool and teased him back.

“Sure.” He snickered. “Me too.”

“Cut the shit. What’s wrong?”

Towering over her, his gaze flicked down her body and rested on her lips. Or chin, she couldn’t be sure. He cocked his head to the side, mouth curling. Reached down and traced her jaw like it was made of china.

“What are you doing?” Meg shifted her feet. Forced herself not to touch him.

His green eyes were like magnets drawing her in. His thick fingers wrapped around her hips, thumbs tracing the line just below her waistband.

She seized his wrists, pushed him back and locked her elbows to immobilize him. “You’re seventeen.”

“Eighteen. Last week.” Laughing, he leaned down. Brushed his slick body against hers until she heard his breath in her ear. “Would that have really stopped you? You already followed me all the way out here. You asked me yesterday what I was going to do about this. About seeing you. Knowing what you need. Are you ready to find out?”

Heat surged between her legs. She felt her clit spasm, her cunt clench.

Eighteen.

Legal.

Fuck.

“I asked you a question.” Her voice was shaky.

His hands slid down to her ass, squeezing. Testing. Then he lifted her off the ground.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, whimpering when she felt his hard length press against her pussy. Pressed her head to his chest and held onto his back as he walked to the side of the trail and set her on the soft sand.

Screw it. It’s sex. Just sex. 

“Tell me a secret,” he whispered, settling between her legs.

Oh good god. She shook her head against his pecs. Damn teenager.

He lifted his torso from hers, the tinny slosh from their mingled sweat drowning in the ocean’s crashing static. She relaxed against the warm sand and looked into his green eyes. His hands propped up next to her head like pillars.

“Tell me a secret or I walk away.”

Meg shook her head, feeling her ponytail loosen with the movement. “Fine. You don’t pick up your feet enough when you run.”

He blinked. Eyebrows rose.

“You drag.”

“Another.” He chuckled.

“You let your back and shoulders sag sometimes, your feet ahead of your body at others. Keep your body alignment, your feet underneath you, and you’ll be a better runner.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, the margin between top and bottom lashes like a thickening frame. His lips curled up. He lowered himself, pressing his chest against her breasts, and ducked his head to the side at the last moment, abandoning her mouth. Breathing hard, she stared past the crescent of his muscular arm to the dark clouds sprinting into the grey above them.

“Do you want my tongue or do you want my dick?”

Felt like lightening cracked across her body at the precision in his words. Her breath caught and a tremor of fear raked through her.

Don’t be a pussy.

Trailing her fingers down the wet slide of his lower back, she let her lips brush his ear. “Such confidence for a boy so young. Sure you can even make a real woman orgasm? And not fake it.”

*
What the fuck?

Blake pushed up on his hands, stared at her face. Her lips drove twin decimal points into her cheeks, her eyes on his. Dragging a finger down his back, she raised an eyebrow.

A challenge.

“Mmm.” Leaning back on his knees, he smiled in return. Then grabbed her ankles, drew her legs up high, and pushed them together in front of him. He propped them on his shoulders, sand sprinkling from his hands, and caressed her silky skin in figure eights. Reached higher and higher until his fingers hooked her waistband. Leaning forward to lift her ass from the ground, he dragged her shorts and panties down her thighs.

Her breath caught, but his attention was between her legs. That white stretch across her hips and mound was worth everything he’d endured in the last week. Like uncharted, untouched territory, flanked by tattoos and showing a hint of the pink slash between them.

“Fuck.” Lowering until the back of his thighs rested against the back of his calves, he slid her shorts from her feet. Glanced up at the dashes of sweat beneath her perfect tits, soaking her sports bra. The little swell under her chin as she looked down at him. The vulnerability in her round, dark eyes and the way she tightened the soft part of her lips closed when their eyes met.

Dick fully hard, he tossed her shorts behind him. Grasped one of her ankles and placed it on his opposite shoulder so each of her feet hooked beside his head. Didn’t break eye contact as he traced his finger through her dainty little slit to feel the softness encase him like wet silk on his fingerpad.

She whimpered, her chest heaving. Hands tightened at his hips. “Blake… I-I see you too.”

Cock throbbing, his heart felt like it swelled. Lost in her intense gaze, he slid a finger into her hot pussy. Felt her clench just before she reached under to cup his balls through his shorts. Her hand moved, slid up the belly of his rigid cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Feel what you do to me.”

“You really want everything you said?” she asked, voice small.

What did I say? Oh, sobriety. College. Her.

“Absolutely.” Leaning over her toned body, his lips finally found hers in a humid concert of tongues and mouths. He slid his hand down her curves. Her tits, her hard nipples poking the fabric of her top. Rumples of abs, hips. Then between her legs, breaking through the part of her labia until he felt the soft peak of her clit.

She gasped. Arching her hips against him, she slapped her hands against his biceps and held tight. The immaculate focus in her eyes hazed.

Laughing, Blake fluttered his fingers on her clit. The tiny movements were leaps to her, judging by the way her body writhed against his. “Something like this is how you make a real woman come, right Miss Hickman? Or are you faking it?”

“Oh fuck! Fuck!” Her hips lurched and her eyes flew open, locking into his gaze.

He slid his finger into her again. So hot, so wet. And God, so tight. His cock ached against his shorts, begging to take the place of his finger and plunge deep inside. “Tell me what you want, Miss Hickman.”

“You. To call me Downey. Or…” She bit her lip, a tiny feminine moan breaking through. “Or… or Meg.”

“Okay, Miss Downey. Meg. Feels good, doesn’t it? Want more?” It was all he could do not to bury himself inside her.

“Yes.”

He leaned closer, against the tension of her legs sandwiched between them, and he kissed the shell of her ear. Her neck. Added a second finger, stretching her, and pumped that delicate pussy to the beat of her breath. “What do you want?”

“O…obliterate me.”

Blake froze, then pulled his fingers out of her. Caressed the back of her thigh. “What’d you say?”

*
“I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be in control. You want me?” Lust drunk, Meg slid her hand between them. Palmed the hard line of his cock through his shorts. “Push that dick in my pussy and take me over.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. His breath splashed over her ear.

His free hand planted on the sand next to her face and he rose from her body, locked his elbows, and stared into her eyes until she felt butterflies in her stomach.

She was too breathless. Needier with every second he made her wait.To continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.