Page 26 of Making His Bones

The water scalded my chest, but I knew from her frequent glances down that she admired my buff pecs under the flimsy cotton of the wifebeater. I knew my nipples stood out, so close to brushing hers. I could’ve easily bent at the knees, whipped out my cock, and fucked her. I think she would’ve accepted it, maybe even gladly. Later, she might’ve pretended it never happened, but in the heat of things, she would’ve wrapped at least one leg around me.

But she was a bruised pony of a gal, a crushed little animal, and I had to proceed lightly.

Pressing her fingers into her vulva, I played her like a puppet. We panted into each other’s mouths as I fiddled with her fingers, mimicking her diddling herself. That I was clothed showed her I had no interest in my own pleasure, only hers.

And it was true. I wanted her joy more than anything.

Her eyes on my face, she played with herself. It didn’t last long. She yanked her hand away and grabbed my wrist, pressing my fingers into her. Her clit slipped from my touch, she was that wet. I had to play her like a fiddle, loosely stroking the side of her button, and her expression absolutely melted.

Her mouth went slack, her succulent lips moving slightly near mine. I dared to place an open-mouthed, almost biting kiss on those lips, and her eyelids fluttered. Her little hands clasped my biceps, and I was proud. I knew what she was feeling as I fiddled with her juicy slit. She was abandoning all control, giving it up to a guy who had masculinity all tied up. I was that good.

I bent a little at the knees and pressed my kneecaps to the wall between her thighs, lifting her a bit. Her hands reflexively clenched and unclenched my biceps. She rolled the back of her skull against the tiles.

I braved to growl against her cheek. “I need you so much, Elektra.” I needed her so heavily, I hadn’t wasted time taking my clothes off. I slid my other hand down and squeezed her ample, shapely butt. My dick was enormous, stiff and so hard that precum spurted inside my briefs, instantly washed away by the cascading water, now not so scalding. When I had the nerve to press my hard-on against her mound, another rush of jizz spurted. A miniature orgasm flooded my pelvis, so I stopped even lightly rubbing it against her. It was almost as good as coming inside her, but my focus was on her.

Her orgasm. Her climax.

I could tell by how her eyeballs rolled up inside her skull, how her lips trembled, how she ever so delicately grasped my muscles with her fingertips, that she was perched on the edge.

I was good at this. I wasn’t one of those egotistical bastards blowing a hole through chicks just for his own satisfaction. I was making her come with my fucking hand. I was—

Oh fuckity fuck.

I was coming against her leg.

I blasted my load inside my fucking soaking wet jeans, and my eyes rolled up inside my head. Surge after surge spurted inside my sopping briefs which by now were like Kleenex, or hagfish slime, covering my erection. The only thing that stopped me from remembering Elektra was a burst of showerhead water directly inside my open mouth. Blech tooie.

I spit the water onto her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. Holding her breath, her fingernails dug into my biceps, her mouth open in a silent howl.

I flicked her clitoris like my life depended on it. I was rewarded in a matter of seconds.

There. She grunted like a hog presented with a yummy meal. She shuddered her hips as my fingers strove to keep flicking her swollen, juicy clit. With her ass slippery in my other hand, I moved those fingers into her slit to tickle her there, too. I could even reach the stalk of her clit with the tips of my fingers, giving her all ten massaging, flickering, and diddling.

Man, did she come for a long time. Had any other woman ever come this long? It must’ve been over a minute. I found myself growling, “That’s it, Elektra. Come for me. Come into my hands. Come all over me.”

This only seemed to encourage her. Her fingers dug so forcefully into my biceps I felt she drew blood. How long could she hold her breath? My penis still pulsed inside my sopping wet pants, and when I nudged it, spongey, against her thigh, it spasmed with more seed. I pinned her hip to the tiles with my pulsing cock as she came. And came. And came.

I slowed my fingers. She couldn’t possibly still be coming. After another minute of that, she opened her twitching eyes. She finally breathed.

She circled my wrist in her fist. “Stop, stop,” she said weakly.

Grinning, I backed off. Regretfully I even stood tall, away from her, getting another blast of lukewarm water in my mouth. I took the showerhead off the wall mount and used the feeble water pressure to rinse whatever spit, jizz, and hagfish slime I’d poured over her torso. For the first time I touched her stupendous tits under the pretext of rinsing. I didn’t linger, knowing most men had been trying to grapple with her amazing rack for decades. She must be sick of it. But I did flick a thumb over her nipple, make her hiss and jump.

“Enough,” she declared impishly, and stepped out of the glass door.

By the time I’d hung up the showerhead and squeezed my wifebeater of a gallon of water, she’d wrapped herself in a giant towel. No more boobs for this boy. I gave her another towel to dry her hair.

“Maybe you should change your clothes,” she suggested with a devilish glint in her eye.

I got it. She didn’t want to discuss what had just happened. It had been a little too intense for me, too. Shit like that normally didn’t happen to me. I was strictly a wham, bam, thank you ma’am guy like everyone else in LA. Our encounters with women lasted ten minutes tops. In and out, that was our motto. I knew how to make women come, that was what made me stand out from the crowd, but that was just a pathway to fucking them.

Not this time.

“Yeah,” I said, “I won’t need to wash them.”

“What’s this?” she asked, gesturing at the jar of hagfish slime on the vanity.

“Hagfish slime,” I said. “We can discuss it later.”