Page 22 of Insta [FAM]

MIKA

My truck is barely in park when Dion’s hand tightens around my dick. She managed to get into my jeans while I was driving, and I must admit her skill is admirable. It’s been the longest — I check my dash for the time — two hours of foreplay, and as torturous as it's been, I’m not sorry I took her for dinner. Regardless of how we’ve labeled what’s happening between us, I’m still going to take her out. Even if she fights me on it, which I’m sure she will every time. And I’m not opposed to that either because arguing with her has become its own kind of foreplay, no doubt because of how we met. She removes her hand from inside my jeans and gives me a smile. “Race you inside.” She winks and flings her door open. I’m out of my truck between one breath, and the next, and I’m chasing Dion to her front door while trying to put my dick back in my jeans. The last thing I need is someone to be taking an evening walk, only to see my dick flapping in the wind. And with my recent luck, it’ll end up online. As soon as the door shuts behind us, I pin her against it, my thigh between her legs. With her wrists bound in one hand, I use my free hand to lift her skirt until it’s gathered around her waist. “As much as I like where this is going,” she exhales, “I’d prefer we do this in my bed. I’m pretty sure I still have carpet burns from Wednesday.”

“Fair enough,” I reply. Without warning, I pick her up, and toss her over my shoulder, heading for the stairs. I’ve been here before; I have a general idea of where the staircase is. Dion squeals, and wriggles around, making her skirt lift. Like I did at dinner, I palm her thigh, and slide my hand up, and then I do something I’ve never even contemplated doing to a woman before — I slap her ass. “Mika,” she yelps. “Don’t do that!” We pass what I assume are her kids’ rooms, and her office, judging by the disarray, and step into what is obviously her bedroom. It's a mess of laundry scattered on the floor, an unmade king-size bed, and dresser drawers half-open, but it screams Dion in a way I find endearing. And she has a bedside lamp on, thank God. A lot of women, and men too, like this sort of thing in the dark, but Dion and I took far too much pleasure in looking at each other when we did this at the clinic. I waste little time and throw Dion onto the bed. For a beat, she’s not sure what to make of it, but then, as if by silent mutual agreement, we’re both undressing ourselves like the world is about to end. I step towards the bed but hesitate because, “I need to grab a condom.” And I didn’t think to put one in my wallet earlier because Nyree was busy interrogating me after I told her I’m going to be home late. I couldn’t leave my house fast enough when my little sister tried to give me a safe sex talk — the irony of which isn’t lost on me right now. Dion slips her panties off, and unclips her bra, revealing her gorgeous body to me in a way that reflects her self-acceptance. She’s on her back, in the middle of her bed, and doesn’t try to hide anything from me. Not her wider hips, or the few stretch-marks lining her tummy. Nothing. It’s quite a turn-on, current topic of conversation aside. “I’m certainly not getting one from my son’s room, it’s bad enough I know he’s having sex at all, but I had my tubes tied after my youngest was born. So, unless you have a phonebook worth of sexual partners at the moment, I’ll allow you to stick that in my beaver without a suit.”

I bark out a laugh. “Beaver?”

“Beaver, piggy bank, pussy — all the same thing. Do you want to use —”

I shake my head. “No, no condom.”

“Then stop standing there like a teenager about to pop his cherry, Mika. We already lost time by eating food, and I think it’s time you eat me.”

Haven’t done that in a while either, but I do know I’ll have to sort out my hair situation. Rather than be a wit about it, I take Dion’s lead, and roll with it. “I need a hair-tie if we’re doing that.”

“Will you do that man-bun thing so I have something to hold onto?” Her voice has a lilt to it, one that comes out when she’s past the point of aroused, and just ready to go. She’s rubbing her thighs together, and if I don’t take care of that soon, she’ll start touching herself, and then I’ll be screwed. Better to slow this down, just a smidge. I lick my lips, and watch her throat work, noticing how her breathing becomes uneven. “You can pull as hard as you want.” Dion smiles at that, and rolls over, pulling her bedside table drawer open. Me? I’m staring at her bare back, and full ass, and my breath hitches when she bends a knee, and gives me a flash of pink skin. She roots around, unaware that she’s giving me a pre-show show, shuts it, and holds a black hair-tie out to me. She watches me tie my hair up, and I watch her squirm in the middle of the bed, moving closer to the headboard to allow enough space for me. But I have other plans. I take hold of her ankles and pull her until her ass is close to the edge of the bed. When I drop to my knees, Dion holds herself up on her forearms, and I keep my gaze on her while blowing a breath over her bare beaver. Her entire body trembles, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh. “You want to watch?” I ask, inhaling her scent.

She nods. “Hmm hmm.” I get the distinct impression she’s curious, and not because she knows what it looks like when a man is going down on her. But because she doesn’t. Spreading her thighs with my hands, I keep her in place, and start by kissing her bare mound. I open my mouth, and slide my tongue between her wet lips, over her entrance, and slowly suck her clit. Dion bites her bottom lip and lifts her torso using one arm while using her free hand to grab my hair, and vacillates between pulling, and holding my head where she wants it — she can’t decide which she prefers. The change also forces her to widen her legs, and plant her feet on the bed, opening her up more to me.

“Jesus,” she hisses. “If you were to ever kiss my mouth like that, I’d come.” She sucks in a sharp breath when I suck her clit, and then roll the tip of my tongue over the already sensitive area. And when I growl, and shake my head, the vibration of my voice makes her mewl, and her toes curl. “If you bite my clit, I’m going to kick you,” she threatens without much conviction. She’s too busy rubbing herself on my face to really be of any danger to me, and I’m taking advantage of how complacent she is. Not that I’m in any hurry, but I do double my efforts because my dick is uncomfortably hard, and I’m not about to waste whatever time we have — it was hard enough fitting tonight in with our manic schedules. Dion pulls my hair, and I know she’s close. Moving one hand, I slide my middle finger inside her, and twist my wrist, finding her g-spot. Dion’s mouth falls open, and her body starts to shake. It’s a sight, watching her fall apart, and only a man who knows how to take care of his partner will truly appreciate it. On her back, knees apart, Dion tries to catch her breath, and I stand before kneeling on the bed. Hovering over Dion, I wait, wondering if I should kiss her, or wipe my mouth first. I don’t want to, I like her taste, but I’m not sure if that’s something Dion will like.

“Stop staring,” she says, opening one eye. Her breasts have the slightest jiggle when she breathes so fast, and I like that too. It freaks me out when a woman’s breasts don’t move at all during sex, to be honest. “Are you waiting for instructions?”

Shaking my head, I chuckle and go in for the kiss. Mouths locked, Dion moves up the bed, and places her hand on my chest. “Please tell me you’re not a missionary man, because I was married to that for too long, and it’s boring.”

I’m certainly not a missionary man, though it can be enjoyable if you're not pressed for time. But if Dion wants something else, I’ll give it to her. “Then tell me what you want.”

“I can do one better, let me show you what I want.”

With a gentle push, I kneel back, and allow Dion to position herself first. On her hands, and knees, she glances at me over her shoulder as she moves her knees further apart and lowers her torso onto her forearms. Her hair hangs over her shoulder, and her cheeks are flushed, but like this, it’s her ass that kind of steals the show. Without instructions — I don’t need them — I settle behind her, hands on her hips, and slowly slide in.

Dion’s arches her back, and when I’m buried to the hilt, I kiss her. Our significant difference in height affords me the chance to kiss her while moving my hips, sliding in and out.

“I don’t recall you being this big the first three times,” she mutters against my mouth. I smile, trailing a hand from her hip, over her belly, and between her legs. I spread her lips with my fingers, a strange satisfaction coming over me when I feel myself going in and out. Dion reaches for my neck from behind, our foreheads touching. “Y-you know,” she exhales. “I was totally prepared for you to ride me, so when you — ooh,” she whimpers, “want to go harder,” — I thrust. Hard. — “yes,” she grinds out. “I want that. So much of that.”

Heeding her request, and knowing I won’t hurt her like this, I allow myself to lose control. Removing Dion’s hand from my neck, I rest our intertwined hands on the bed, and arch my body over hers, well and truly fucking her. It’s wild, the way I take her, and so are the sounds she makes. “Pleasepleaseplease,” she begs, out of breath, skin damp with sweat, and barely able to hold herself up any longer. As much as I’m enjoying this position, I want to see Dion’s face when she screams. I pull out and flip her over before she can complain. Her surprise is soon replaced with something else, because no sooner do I have her on her back than I have her legs on my shoulders while I thrust inside.

“Forfuckssss…” her words trail off, and she looks at me. Thank God her bed isn’t the bouncy type because I’ll bounce us both off the fucking thing at this rate if it were.

“Dion,” I growl, ready to come. “Fuck.”

Her hands flutter, as if she doesn’t know where to put them, and she finally decides to hold onto my thighs — well, as much as her small hands will allow. Her nails dig into my flesh, and it drives me, that fine line between pleasure and pain. I thrust, and circle my hips, feeling the moment Dion lets go. The way she squeezes my dick has me coming so hard — I drop her legs, and fall forward, holding her body to me.

Our bodies take a few minutes to ride the high, and the feel of her skin against mine — I love it more than I should. I lift my head, my breathing still labored, and when Dion says, “Definitely not a missionary man. Do they teach you how to be bendy when you play rugby?”

Lord, this woman is something else.

“They do, actually.” Agility and flexibility are crucial to any sport, but more so when you play a full-contact sport without any kind of padding. “But not with this in mind, obviously.”

Dion’s breathing slows, as does mine, and without much thought — on her part at least — she’s moving her hands over my back, around my neck, down my triceps and over my traditional Māori ink. “I’m so glad you’re proportionate. It would be fucking sad if you had a big body, but a fun-sized peen.”

I snort, I can’t help it. “Is my dick not fun-sized?” I lick her neck, and she shivers.

“No, it’s super-sized,” she states, turning her head to look at me. “And I know you have more in you than that, but I need to wash the cum off me before you come in me again.”

Boring she is not, that’s for sure. Though, our shower is hardly considered a shower, and we’re hardly clean by the time we’re done — she tests my stamina and makes me feel like an absolute brute for all the ways she opens her body to me. It’s downright indecent. And so very addictive.

“By the way,” Dion’s huffing, and puffing, and fuck, so am I, “I don’t do sleep overs.” We’re on the bed, but everything is askew, or on the floor, and I’m pretty sure I kicked a lamp over and broke the bedside table at one point. If asked to recall which position we were in, I won’t be able to tell you. “That’s fine,” I tell her. “I need to get home anyway, but let me just catch my damn breath before you kick me out.”