Page 82 of Come Apart

She nods, shifting off me. I take one long look at her—she's fucking perfect—and move off the couch. She presses her lips into mine. Her hands wrap around my cock and she strokes me.

I grab her hips and turn her around, so my chest is pressed into her back.

"Bend over."

She leans over, pressing her hands into the couch. I have a perfect view of her ass, her hips. I dig my hands into her thighs, and I slide inside her.

She's still so wet, so warm, so tight. I squeeze her hips, pulling her body towards mine as I thrust into her.

She groans, a low deep groan that can only mean more.

I thrust into her. Again and again and again.

"Fuck me." She arches her back, her nails digging into the couch.

My body fills with pleasure. I move harder. Deeper. I thrust into her again and again and again.

I groan. She feels so damn good.

Her breath is low and heavy. "Fuck me, Luke. Come inside me."

I squeeze her hips. I thrust into her. Harder. Deeper. Again. Again. Again.

The ache builds. She's so tight around me, so warm, so wet, so perfect.

I thrust into her again.

She groans. "Come inside me." It's a demand.

I lose control of any conscious thought. It's only Alyssa. Her hips, her thighs, her cunt, her groans. I thrust into her, harder, and deeper, until the ache inside me is too much.

And I come, my cock pulsing inside her.

She sighs in pleasure, collapsing on the couch. I lie next to her, our bodies pressed together in the tiny space.

There's no sense in trying to talk after this.

Maybe after we eat.

Or maybe tomorrow.