Fake Model by Cassie Mint

Eight

Archer

Ipush to my feet, a thousand urgent impulses clamoring for my attention.

I want to tug off that robe and suck on her rosy nipples.

I want to get her tiny hand wrapped around my cock.

A vision of her bare ass resting on my lap, my palm cracking down and leaving pink hand prints drifts across my mind, but there’s no time to make it happen.

Because she’s tugging down my zipper. Popping the button of my jeans. And fishing out my cock all by herself. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, her pert little nose is level with the head, and she darts out her pink tongue, lapping at me like a cat.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Wait, wait.” She stops, blinking up at me. I push my thumb between her lips and she sucks me in, swirling her tongue until I groan. I rub it along her tongue, relishing the soft heat. “I still don’t know your name, sweetheart.”

She lets go of me with a pop.

“Coral,” she says, voice husky. Her mouth quirks. “Our parents were hippies.”

Coral. It suits her. She looked kind of like a mermaid with her wild red hair at the beach, walking into the waves.

“Are you going to lick me, Coral?”

“Uh-huh.” She pulls my cock back to her lips, tracing them like lipstick. “It’s my turn to make you cry.”

I open my mouth to respond but she sucks me deep inside, sinking several inches into her sweet, warm mouth. Her hand works the base as she suckles on the head of my cock, her head bobbing and her tongue swirling.

She may be inexperienced, but she’s a goddamn natural.

“Shit.” I bury my hands in her hair. I can’t help it; my hips twitch forward, thrusting until I hit the back of her throat. Coral hums, the vibrating rattling all the way through to my teeth, slurping me deeper as I plunge my cock inside her.

“Shit,” I say again. All other words are gone. “Fuck. Sweetheart. That mouth. That fucking mouth.”

She moans, bobbing her head eagerly, her spare hand drifting down to squeeze her own breast through her robe.

“Yeah, that’s it. You like this, sweetheart? You like sucking down your man?”

She hums louder, her hand dropping to her lap, nudging the robe aside to delve between her thighs. That’s what breaks me. Catching a glimpse of her tiny soaked panties.

There will be time for blow jobs. Years—hell, the rest of our lives, if I have any say in it.

Right now, I need something else. I need to wedge myself deep inside her.

“Come here.”

She pulls off just in time for me to scoop her up, turning us both and crashing back on the sofa. Coral lands on my lap, bouncing on my thighs, the creamy mounds of her tits swelling and falling.

I tear open her robe, snarling at what I find: the perfect body. Curvy and sinful. I thought I must have imagined it, back on the beach. Built it up in my own head, but here it is again.

Paradise.

Her nightgown whips over her head before she can blink. I trace a line down the center of her chest with one callused finger, down her soft stomach, dipping into her belly button.

“God.” I gather her breasts in each hand, squeezing them together. I want to fuck her there too. “You’re a wet dream. A work of art.” My grip tightens and she whimpers. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispers, color bright on her cheeks. Then she adds, voice stronger: “And you’re mine, Archer Westbrook. Mine to fuck. Mine to love.”

I never expected language like that from my shy sweetheart, nor the jealous bite to her voice. My cock swells impossibly harder between us.

She pushes onto her knees without urging, notching me at her entrance.

“I haven’t done this before,” she tells me, then sinks down three inches like she hasn’t just blown my mind.

I knew that about her.

I did.

But fuck if that doesn’t send heating surging through me. My hips twitch up, impaling her deeper, and Coral gasps, her head rolling on her neck.

She’s tight. Warm and wet, pulsing around me.

“How does it feel?” I grit out, fisting her hair in one hand and squeezing her thigh with the other. “Does it hurt?”

She bites her lip, thinking about it, then shakes her head slowly.

“It doesn’t hurt. It feels tight, it’s stretching me, but… but…”

“What?” I’ll die without the end of that sentence.

“It’s so good,” she moans.

“Good.” I thrust up harder, feeding her another inch. “Because it’s the last cock you’ll ever have. I never want you out of my fucking sight.”

“Don’t you trust me?” she murmurs dreamily. Her head lolls as she begins to work up and down, sliding on my shaft. Her eyes are glazed, peering up at me, her arms winding around my neck.

I tug my handful of her hair.

“Of course I trust you. But I’ll fucking die if I don’t get between your legs every day. I need you with me. Within reach.”

She’s nodding in agreement, hiccuping and gasping, and she’s so honest in her pleasure, so needy and wound tight, my heart clenches in my chest.

I love her. I love her so fucking much.

“I don’t care that it’s so soon.” I pulse my hips up as I talk, and she sinks further down on me with every bounce in my lap. “I love you. Coral. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she breathes, slamming all the way down to the hilt. I’m filling her up, stretching her pussy, her muscles quivering over every inch of my cock. “I need you too. I feel so—so desperate for you. As soon as you stop touching me, I want to scream.” Her eyes slam shut, and her hips stutter. “Oh, god. Archer. It’s happening again.”

I tug on her hair, pulling her head to the side, and scrape my teeth over her neck.

“Let it happen, sweetheart.”

Feeling her come from the inside out—that’s what fucking miracles are made of. The pressure starts and builds, her channel spasming, then she clamps down on my cock like a vice. She rides me through it all, movements frantic, head tossed back and moaning loud, and her pussy twitches when I crack a palm against her ass.

She ends on the tiniest squeak.

I want to record it next time.

I want it for my fucking ring tone.

“God, baby.” I pump my hips up, ears ringing. “So sexy. You’re so goddamn sexy.”

Heat floods inside her as I come, emptying into her pussy with a groan, my forehead pressed into her shoulder. It takes forever, dredging up spurt after spurt, and a wicked voice in my brain whispers that she might get pregnant.

I thrust up harder, just in case. You know, to help it along. She’s still squirming in my lap, working herself up again, and I’m right there with her.

I’ll never get enough.

Not even if I fuck her every day for the rest of our lives.

Better get started.