Under the Boardwalk by Poppy Parkes

Author:Poppy Parkes [Parkes, Poppy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Parkes Publishing
Published: 2020-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

Tess

Crispin isn’t even inside me yet but this is already the hottest fuck of my life.

We’re trapped by the storm that’s battering at the stand’s hatches, our drenched clothes accumulating in a sopping pile on the floor. Just his kisses make my pussy hum. Then he adds his fingers and I become a fucking waterspout in his hands.

I need more.

I need all of him, inside me, now.

Turning around, I rotate my ass against his exposed cock before bending over, arms on the counter, slit ready and waiting.

Crispin doesn’t need any further encouragement.

He’s on me, bending over my back, grappling at my entrance. Then he’s in me, my chosen position allowing him to plumb my deepest depths.

He does not disappoint.

With one smooth stroke, he fills me absolutely. His balls nudge below my opening and his tip touches something so wild and ready that I explode.

My hands grope blindly of their own accord, seeking something, anything to catch hold of as I, writhing, ride out this unexpected orgasm that’s as torrential as the rain outside.

Crispin’s thrusts are gentle and patient after that first one until he feels my spasming insides calm.

Then one of his hands is on my clit and the other grips my hip and he’s sheathing himself to the hilt in my wetness again and again. I struggle to catch my breath, to ground myself enough to meet his every forward movement, but I can’t. I’m too dizzy with the sensation he’s gifting my body.

I don’t mind a bit.

His hands travel from my hip to a breast, sliding between my flesh and the hard counter to massage the blossoming skin there. My nipple contracts at his touch and I shove my upper body forward, pressing into it further.

Crispin folds his body over mine so that his thick, low moans are loud as he breathes them directly into my ear. My skin prickles at the mere sound of his arousal. When he begins to thrust into me all the harder, the music of his ecstasy swirls with the electric sensation he’s sending coursing through my form and, gasping, I come again.

This time he comes with me, tipping over the edge of control and cascading into a cacophony of pure feeling. Our cries are the most beautiful concert I’ve ever heard — or they would be, if I had the clarity of mind to form coherent thought.

But I don’t. My brain is merely a conductor of knowledge that this is the best damn pleasure of my life. Nothing else matters. There is nothing more that I want but this man and his body on mine and in mine, an ouroboros of ecstasy with no beginning and no end.

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