The Pretend Boyfriend (The Pretend Boyfriend #1)(20)
Author: Artemis Hunt

“Sam,” he says hoarsely, “I need to f**k you.”

She needs him to f**k her too. The tunnel of her pu**y literally clenches with her need to be filled by him. It’s a visceral hunger. A scorching culmination of her manifested desires.

They don’t even make it to the bed.

She takes his glistening c**k out of her mouth, and he reaches for his jeans pocket to take out a little silver foil packet.

“Here, put it on me,” he says.

Her fingers are trembling as she takes the condom packet from him. She rips a tear into it with her teeth. Then she takes out the little circular fold of rubber and rolls it slowly, oh so slowly, onto his stone hard cock.

“You’re good,” he teases.

“I wish I can say I’ve had plenty of practice, but I don’t.” In truth she is nervous. Nervous that she wouldn’t measure up to his usual standards – to the hundreds of women he has obviously bedded.

He senses this.

He caresses her cheek. “Hey,” he says softly, “just follow my lead.”

She looks up at him with shining eyes. He is so handsome. So masculine. So much in command of everything he is doing. She wishes she can be as confident as he is.

Then he grabs her by the shoulders and flips her onto her back with sudden aggression. His eyes sparkle dangerously. She’s lying on the floor, naked, her pointy br**sts bare to him and the velvet down of her pu**y moist and open.

He parts her legs and positions himself in between them. Without mercy, he plunges into her – deep and strong and fitfully.

She shrieks.

“You OK?” he says, thrusting himself in and out of her all at once.

She’s too bowled over to answer, but she nods. The pain is instantaneous, sharp but pleasurable. The sudden expansion of walls long left untouched is overwhelming, to say the least. She feels as if she has been sucker punched down there – but in a good way. In a long, pulling, languorous sort of way.

She twists her head left and right. Her hips are snagged beneath his pumping ones, trapped in a vise grip around the anchor of his penis, unable to move.

“You sure?” he says.

“Y-yes.”

“Been a while, huh?”

“Not for you, I suppose.”

“I could barely get through the weekend without thinking of doing this to you every five minutes.”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I wanted you bad. Couldn’t you tell by the way my c**k hardens up every time I flash it before you?”

He pummels his way vigorously, going so deep that his c**k head grinds and knocks against the little puckered orifice of her cervical mouth. The energy of his hips slamming against hers astounds her. She has never had such a frenetic lover before, let alone one who knows how to angle his head in such a way that it hits a spot just below her cervix – the very spot that sends curling tingles all over her pelvic region and up her spine into her fevered brain.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she cries.

“What? You like it here?” He pinions her hips and concentrates on that spot. “They say ‘G’ is the target.”

“Bullseye,” she replies faintly.

Oh, she’s going to miss him after this. After being f**ked by Brian Morton, what other guy can possibly compare?

He drives himself floridly onto her G-spot – coring it, rubbing it until she writhes and screams in delirious pleasure. Her orgasm is blinding, coming on almost without her giving it permission. She arches her back from the floor and screams with all the sound and fury in her body. Paeans and paeans of sensation whiplash and crash through her sensory fibers.

And still he does not give her respite. He goes on and on, f**king and squeezing herself within her smooth passage while his lips dip down to kiss her savagely on her mouth. Again and again. Wet tongues laving wet tongues. Moist groins bumping and squishing with squelchy, love-struck noises. She has never felt so desired before. Or so horny. Even as her first orgasm abates, a second one blossoms and crests.

He trawls her through three mind-blowing orgasms before he lets himself have one. And even then, he keeps on going. She can feel him softening inside her, and then hardening again. Does this man ever stop? He’s more than an incredible f**k. And when he looks into her eyes so deeply the way he is doing now – with gold flecks in his brown irises – she can imagine herself falling in love.

God forbid.

Never, ever, ever must she allow this. Because he won’t be reciprocating it any time soon, she can be certain.

He doesn’t do encores. Better take what he has to offer right now.

He finally collapses on top of her, his body shuddering with deep breaths. His skin is flushed and beaded with sweat. A drop actually falls upon her lips, and she licks its salty tang away. She can almost imagine it to be one of her tears.

His chest heaves with several deep breaths, and then he settles on top of her, sinking comfortably into every curve she possesses.

“Now I know why you’re so slim,” she says. “You must get thorough workouts every day.”

He laughs. “Let me catch my breath, and then it’s one more for the road.”

Yes, she’s going to miss this. Miss him laughing with her. Miss his snarky sense of humor. Miss his vivid smiles and the snap of fire in his dazzling eyes. Miss discovering more about him – those endless, boundless undulations and complexities of his mind that she has yet to explore.

She strokes his cheek.

“Goodbye, Brian.”

He sighs as he smiles winningly. “Gawd, I hope you’re not going to get all weird on me.”

“No, I promised I wouldn’t. And I won’t.”

“I believe you.”

He kisses her again. A loving deep kiss that is layered with regret and emotion and hidden meaning that she would like to read in between his lip nuances.

I’ll make myself un-miss him.

He smiles again. “Now what do you say to us grabbing a bite to eat . . . and then f**king our brains out one more time?”

*

They made love throughout the evening, and then through the night, stopping now and again to drink wine or nibble at snacks. He falls asleep on her bed for the second night in a row. This time, they are entwined. Limbs curled around each other’s, her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

It is . . . almost romantic.

He reminds himself he doesn’t do romance.

When dawn snakes through the cracks in her curtains, he puts his hand on her hair and tugs at it gently.