Page 47 of Unwrapped

He pulls me to him and starts kissing me, hands already traveling down my body, lifting up my shirt, unzipping my jeans. When I’m undressed, he backs me toward the bed until my calves hit the mattress, and then his hands are on my hips, guiding me down. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as he pulls his sweater over his head, then his t-shirt beneath it, and fuck, his body. The broad chest, the flat stomach, the trail of dark hair leading down. He’s forty-three and he looks like he could bench-press a car.

“Lie back,” he says, pushing me down. He kneels on the floor and pushes my knees apart. “Let me see you.”

I let my knees fall open, and he leans forward and kisses my sex.

I could never get enough of this. It’s the one thing I fantasized about the most before we ever had sex. First, a man’s tongue on my pussy—any man’s—then his. The indecency of it—how private it is, how intimate—always made my heart race. But the intensity as well, the direct contact. The first stroke of his tongue nearly makes me cry out. He’s good at it—so good—his tongue so warm, stroking against the most sensitive part of me until it feels like it’s sparking, shooting electricity through my bloodstream.

He licks me slowly, so thoroughly, and then starts focusing his efforts—his tongue circling my clit. I’m clutching at the sheets, barely able to breathe. Then he changes angle, sucking the sensitive bud between his lips, and my back arches off the mattress.

“Vince. Oh my God.”

“That’s it,” he says, his breath hot against my sex. “Let me hear you, baby.”

The pleasure starts building so fast I’m afraid I’ll come too soon, and that’s when he pulls back. My pussy is throbbing, wet, desperate for more.

“Turn over onto your stomach,” he instructs me.

I roll onto my front, pushing myself up onto my knees, and feel the cool air on my exposed slit. Vince’s hand slides up the back of my thigh, over the curve of my ass, and then his palm connects with my flesh in a sharp, stinging slap.

I gasp. The pain blooms into heat, into a rush of want so intense it steals my breath.

“I love this fucking ass,” he says, as he spanks me again, harder. “Your perfect, firm little ass. I might want to fuck you in the ass one day, Sophie. Do you think you might like that?”

Heat sears across my face at the filth of the idea. “Yes,” I’m whispering. “Yes, I’d like that.” Oh my God. Vince taking every part of me. Right now, with my pussy throbbing for him, I’m dying for it. I want him to take me every way he can.

“Good girl,” he murmurs approvingly, and spanks me again, his handprint burning on my skin, and then his fingers are between my legs from behind, rubbing through my wetness.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “You like that? You like when I slap this perfect ass?”

“Yes.” My voice is wrecked. “Yes, please.”

He spanks me once more, then his hand moves to my hip, gripping hard, and I feel the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance. He pushes into me, an inch, and pulls out, making a choked, desperate sound.

“I want to fuck you raw,” he says, reaching over to the bedside table and unwrapping a condom. “I can’t get this fantasy out of my head. I want to fill you with my cum. I want to watch it drip out of you.”

“Yes,” I say, irrationally, in the moment. “Yes.”

“Fuck.” He rolls the condom down and repositions himself behind me, pushing in—this time all the way.

I cry out as he pushes in. He’s so big, stretching me open, and the fullness is so intense it fills my whole body with sudden heat.

“Fuck, Sophie.” His voice is strained, his hips flush against my ass. “You’re so tight. Christ.”

He starts to move, shallow thrusts, then deeper, each stroke dragging a moan from my throat. His hand finds my hair, twists gently, pulling my head back so my spine arches. The new angle sends his cock hitting somewhere inside me that makes white light flash behind my eyelids.

“Oh my God,” I exclaim. “Right there.”

“I know.” His voice is dark with satisfaction. “I know exactly where, baby.”

He fucks me like that with his hand in my hair, his other arm braced beside my head, and I’m so close, my inner muscles clenching around him, begging for release.

Then he pulls out. The sudden emptiness is agony. I make a frustrated noise into the pillow and Vince laughs, low and wicked.

“Turn over,” he says. “I want to see your face.”

I roll onto my back, legs falling open, and Vince crawls over me, his weight settling between my thighs, his forearms bracketing my head.

He kisses me as he pushes into me again, and fuck, face-to-face is so good. Watching him—the concentration in his brow, the way his jaw tightens when he bottoms out, the dark hunger in his eyes when they meet mine. His hips establish a rhythm, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.