Page 62 of Sexting His Son's Ex
His eyes close and he reaches down, palming himself through his pants.
I lift myself onto my elbows, biting lip as I watch him squeeze himself to relieve the ache. I want to do that. I want to touch him. He wants me. He shouldn’t mind, right?
I lean forward, placing my hand on top of his, and he snaps his eyes open. A word isn’t spoken between us, but he slides his hand away, allowing me to feel and explore how I want.
His chest rises and falls in dramatic bursts as he watches me.
Wrapping my palm around his cock, my lips part when I can visibly see how thick he is.
“I love how you touch me.”
I turn bashful and unsure. “Uncertain?” I tease, giving him an experimental stroke.
His fingers find my chin again and force my head up. “Because it’syouwho is touching me.”
I unbutton his pants and slide down his zipper, wanting to see the length that’s tenting his pants when he snags my wrist.
“You don’t have to do that. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tonight can be all about you. We don’t have to rush.”
“Rush?” I tug at his pants, the material dropping lower and lower until the beautiful dips on either side of his hips show just how far they go. “I’ve been dreaming about this. About you. There’s nothing else I want.”
Santino’s pants pool around his knees and the first thing I notice is that he isn’t wearing underwear. His cock springs free and my mouth waters when I see how perfect every inch is. He’s big, thick, and nearly the girth of a mini soda can. My fingers don’t touch. They almost do, but I’m intimidated. His cock curves, the crown is flared and a dusty red from arousal.
I did that. I make him feel this way.
His hand combs through my hair. “No pressure, Sweet Girl.”
I kiss the tip, dipping my tongue into the slit to gather the clear bead of precome.
He hisses. “Fuck!” Santino steps away, gripping the base, his sack pulled tight against his body.
I’m left alone on the bed, naked, wet, and aching between my thighs. “Did… did I do something wrong?” My voice becomes small with no confidence.
He whips his head to the left to look at me. “Wrong?” He groans, squeezing himself so hard, the tip nearly turns purple. “I’m on the brink of losing my fucking mind. I don’t think I can handle your mouth on me right now. Or everything will be over much quicker than I would like it to.”
“Oh.” I blush, glancing away.
“Oh,” he repeats, his gaze wandering up and down my body again. “You are fucking perfect. I can’t wait another second.”
In three long strides, he has me flat against my back, his lips against mine, and his body settles on top of me. His hips align with mine, his cock pressing against my entrance and we both struggle to breathe.
Instead of thrusting inside me, his shaft slips between my lips, my clit rolling under the crown.
“Santino,” his name is shaken from my core as I grip his biceps.
He flexes his hips again, his cock dragging across my clit with every stroke.
“Oh my God,” I moan, arching my back.
My breasts press against his chest, and he bends down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. My thighs shake from the constant attention he gives the sensitive nerves.
“You feel so fucking good, Jovie. Oh, fuck,” He moans, wrapping his arms around me to bring me close. “I’ve been dreaming of this. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I’ve dreamed of being this close. I fucking need you.” He captures my lips, kissing me within an inch of my life, sucking the air from my lungs until I’m left dizzy.
He lifts my right leg, wrapping it around his waist, and the heel of my foot presses against the firm curve of his butt.
His eyes meet mine, a silent question lingering in them while I have one hand gripping his shoulder, my other pressing against his chest. Santino reaches between us, his arm stretching between us.
That motion might be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.
