Page 36 of Double Shot
“I’m going to fuck your ass, baby.” He slapped my ass, open palmed and hard. I clenched around his fingers and his cock, and the sound that came out of me was a throaty half-moan and a half-wail. I slipped forward, and he was no longer inside me. I ached for him to be back inside. I felt empty without him.
His hand went to my hip and pulled me back into position.
“Are you ready for this?” I could tell he was doing something behind me, getting himself ready, I guessed. I bit my bottom lip as he plunged his finger back in my ass, and then my breath caught in my throat. His fingers were gone and the head of his cock was firmly against my back door. I ached for him.
“Lean forward, stick your ass up, and relax.” His voice was firm. Not as firm as his cock. I coughed out a groan as he pushed through, his slippery cock penetrating my ass. I was paralyzed, and it took every brain cell I had to remember vital things like breathing. Then the resistance eased and the bulge of his cock was inside me, filling my ass the same way that Roan filled my pussy when it was the three of us like this.
“It’s easier because you’ve done this a few times now,” he said, his breath coming out a little ragged. My own breathing was no more stable. The initial discomfort and the weird feeling inside my gut had vanished and his thrusts seemed to be hitting things inside me that I didn’t know I had.
“That’s it, yes,” he hissed between his teeth. His strokes were fast, hard. The entire time his balls were slapping against my pussy and it throbbed for attention. I was so wet it was dripping down my thighs.
God, I liked this.
I couldn’t take it, and buried my fingers in my pussy, fast and frantic. “Oh fuck.” I groaned like a husky animal.
“Come for me, come again,” he said in that commanding voice, making me squirm, my hand wet with my own juices. The sun rose, and it was beautiful and exquisite, an agony that I didn’t want to ever end. He felt me, and held me against him, pounding when my body was trying to get away.
The agony, I shuddered. I came again.
“When I take my escorts, I cum on their faces,” he said.
“Is that a – problem – for you?” I put together the words like a stumbling child. Words were a challenge at the moment.
“You’re not some escort,” he said, and I could feel him starting to tremble.
“Mister Lachlan, you said you wanted to fuck, so do what you came here to do,” I said, hoping I sounding sultry and sexy. Part of me hid an ember of jealousy for those escorts he fucked like this, unhindered by concerns and worries that suddenly didn’t seem to suit him. Was this what his fear was? After sharing me with Roan, after fucking me in the ass, for what, the third time, this was where the hang-up was?
“If you don’t give me a proper facial, Mister Lachlan, I’m going to be disappointed.” I hoped that didn’t come across as corny or cheesy.
I could see it, his love and concern, his deeply buried emotions bubbling to the surface.
“Do it,” I said.
He grunted and pulled out of my ass. I turned to face him, down on my knees, and his hand and cock were inches from my face. That was as close as I would get – there was a line between being what he wanted and just disgusting. He made a noise like a wounded animal and came. It was hot, heavy, and sticky.
That wasn’t new, but I would never tell him.
He spent himself with more fury than I expected, and there was a lot more of the stuff than I expected. It was a mess, but thankfully he seemed to have avoided my eyes. I kept my eyes closed, and rode out the last orgasm of the evening, a small pleasant burst against the palm of my hand while his nut started running down my chin. I was melting as quickly as it was.
He sagged back and then sat down hard in one of the chairs. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his chest, and his cock hung down, still dripping cum from the end.
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
“With an escort, I swipe my card and fuck off to the bar while she showers,” he said.
I pulled the nightgown up over my head. There was no sleeping in it now, his mess starting to streak the front, and a shower was most definitely in order.
“I’m sorry, I don’t accept plastic, Mister Lachlan.” He gave me his ruined shirt. Wiping the mess off took a little work, it seemed to smear more than come away on the cloth. I stood up and gave him a smile, turned on the ball of my foot and walked away.
“Shouldn’t you be getting yourself a drink, from the bar?” I asked, throwing a little pout into my voice. The acting helped me cover how wobbly my knees were and how easy it would be to just sit down and lean against the wall until it felt like I had bones again.
“That’s what I do,” he said, protest in his voice. “But you aren’t an escort, I love you…” he trailed off. His face was a mask of guilt and agony.
“So, what does that mean, Kyle,” I asked, my voice a forced whisper.
“That means I want to take care of you, not treat you like a whore or a prostitute,” he said softly and there was something, I didn’t know, guarded and at once vulnerable about the look he gave me.
“Okay,” I whispered. “And what does that look like?”
