But then…
I can't help myself. I'm sat there staring at the prettiest pussy I've ever seen. I mean, it's perfect. A delicate pink flower, lips like silken petals, clit an elegant pistil. Her folds glisten, beckoning.
I drop the washcloth to the floor beside the bed and settle myself in the cradle of her thighs and feast upon her. Gently, however. Tender licks and soft kisses, slowly, purely for the enjoyment of tasting her sweetness.
"Rush, what are you—oh. Oh…god. Wow, I…oh god, that feels good." Her fingers bury in my hair, but not to pull or knot or yank. There's no desperation, no ferocity in this. It's almost…affectionate. "Rush. Your mouth…oh god. Fucking magical."
I take my time kissing and licking. I'm not trying to make her come, I'm just…giving myself a little treat.
"God, you taste like fuckin' sugar, Bryn." My words are muffled in the silk of her thighs. "Love the way you taste."
She pulls her heels up against her ass and holds my head, hips tipping and rocking subtly as she gasps quietly, each breath a soft whimper that shoots straight to my cock.
Her sounds, though. Bloody hell, the sounds she makes are fucking erotic. Sensual. The soundtrack of pure female ecstasy.
Her hips lift off the bed as she nears her climax, and I push her over the edge without preamble, tonguing her to orgasm as unhurriedly as I began. There's no screaming, no thrashing, just her quiet gasps and breathless sighs and rapturous whimpers.
I keep her coming until she's trembling all over and arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent, shuddering cry. I devour her hungrily, growling my enjoyment of the way she arches, gasps, and whimpers.
Finally, she pushes me away. "Stop, stop. I can't—I can't handle any more. I need a minute."
I crawl up and flop to my back beside her, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.
She covers her face with both hands, panting raggedly, shuddering occasionally, "God, Rush. I just came, like four times, and you go down on me again?"
I grin. "Sorry, not sorry. Couldn't help myself."
She shakes her head. "I mean, I'm not complaining. I've just never had anyone go down on me minutes after we finish fucking."
"I'm not most blokes, am I?"
"No, you're not."
She yawns. "Sorry. It's been a lot, and it's catching up to me."
I have a freakishly strong urge to pull her into my arms. To hold her. Nuzzle her hair. And I’ve gotta ask myself: the fuck, mate? I don't do that. I don't snuggle. I fuck and get gone.
But this is Bryn.
And this isn't a normal situation.
The choice is taken from me when she rolls into me, the soft press of her breasts against my chest making my heart skip a beat. I swallow hard, finding it difficult to catch my breath.
Bryn chuckles, patting my pec. "Relax, Rush. We're just enjoying a nice little post-coital cuddle. I'm not expecting a proposal. Breathe, Jesus, you're as tense as a rock."
I will myself to relax, but that's sort of a contradiction in terms and doesn’t exactly work. I focus on breathing, but that's ineffective as well. Eventually, I zero in on her—categorizing and memorizing the sensations of her: her scent; the warmth of her skin, the silk of it against my body; her breath on my chest; her hair tickling my chin and nose; her fingers curled on my pec.
That relaxes me.
Slowly, slowly, I drowse.
Bryn twitches, sighs. I feel her drop off into sleep, growing heavy against me.
My throat is tight and hot—what am I doing? Making everything harder on myself, that’s what. I should get up and leave. Sneak out like I usually do. Call him and give him her location. Wash my hands of this whole thing. Take my money and run.
I have to.
Saving Bryn isn't an option—I've only room in my life for one girl, and it's not Bryn, unfortunately.
