Page 7 of Give In

She shifts her body so she’s straddling my lap. The yards of fabric of her skirt hike up to her thighs, giving me a peek at the pale, creamy skin there. Her palms come to my chest.

“You don’t have like a weird fetish for crying women, do you?” she asks.

I laugh. “No, baby girl, I do not.”

“Good.” Then she leans forward and kisses me. The touch of her lips is feather-light at first. But then she grows bolder, sliding her tongue against the seam of my mouth.

I groan and grip her ass, pulling her body flush to mine.

She reaches between us, moving her skirt further out of the way.

Instantly I feel the heat from her pussy through her panties and my shorts.

“Fuck, Clover.”

I deepen our kiss; our tongues meet and tangle in a practiced dance. It feels as if I’ve been kissing this woman forever.

She rocks against me while we make out. I move one hand up to cup one of her breasts. It’s full and heavy against my palm, her nipple hard through the layers of fabric.

She whimpers into my mouth and still we kiss. When was the last time I just kissed a woman? It’s been too damn long, I know that. But this moment with her feels so goddamn right. Her noises of pleasure increase, and the precision of her kissing wanes as her lips leave my mouth to trail down my throat.

I want to rip her clothes off. To lay her down on this couch and lose myself in her curves.

She rocks herself against me one more time and then shudders through her release. “Heath,” she breathes.

It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

Her arms loop around me as she releases a mewl of contentment, then slumps against me.

I wait for a moment and then swallow a chuckle as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on me. I just dry humped her into sleep.

chapter

three

Clover

I wake in a warm cocoon. The wall of hot, hairy man muscle pressed against my back reminds me where I am.

Heath.

The crying. Then the kissing. The grinding. Then the mind-blowing orgasm.

And then I fell asleep.

Who does that?

Evidently, I do that.

But I want more of him. More of his hot kisses and big hands feeling me up. More of that monster-sized dick I rubbed myself against.

I shift in his arms until I’m facing him. His thick chest, lightly furred, is warm beneath my palm. I move the sheets, finding that his shorts are gone, and instead he’s wearing a grey pair of boxer briefs.

I glance down at my own body and see that I’m still wearing my bra, panties and tank, but my skirt is gone. Thoughtful of him because sleeping in a broomstick skirt is like trying to wrap up in a tent for a blanket.

Quietly, I work my way down the bed so that my face is close to those boxers. Forget grey sweatpants, the way this fabric molds to his package is downright indecent. And delicious.

I reach out to press my hand to him and find he’s already partially hard. No thanks to me falling asleep and leaving him wanting.