Page 39 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“Just ignore the bruises, okay?”
He hums affirmation. My arms drop, and the jacket slips free. He pushes my sports bra up and palms my breast, paying my nipples attention until I whimper, then moves lower.
He does pause at the bruises on my stomach, though. He traces the fist-shaped one, then presses. The dull ache makes me squirm. He drags my leggings down and hooks my one leg over his shoulder, pressing a single kiss to my pubic bone.
And then he goes lower…
He makes good on his promise to do that thing with his tongue. I cry out, gripping his hair and tugging. Whether I’m trying to get him off or closer is anyone’s guess, though. He chuckles against my core, and once I’ve stopped trembling, he surges up. I go for his jeans, pushing them down until he kicks them and his shoes off.
I take his hand and practically drag him to the couch, shoving him onto it. I straddle him, and he fists his cock, stroking once, twice while he looks me over.
“Those bruises really do fucking suck,” he says. His attention drops to my thighs. “And these…”
“Ignore it,” I beg. I kiss him again. My hand covers his, taking over the long, firm strokes. When his hips jack and his breathing stutters, I line him up and slowly lower myself. He stretches me, and it takes all my willpower not to chase another high immediately.
My body is singing.
He reaches up and runs his fingers through my hair, tilting my head to kiss me deeper. A quick fuck with an ex shouldn’t involve so much intimacy, but it’s always been our way. I feel the way he cares in how he handles me, even if he doesn’t show it the best sometimes.
I hate it, too.
Hate him a bit.
There’s no one to blame but myself. On a cellular level, I know this.
We fuck slowly until he can’t take it anymore. In a smooth motion, he flips us. My back hits the cushions, and he draws almost all the way out of me. My pussy is clenching at just the tip of his dick, and he waits, running his hand over my breast and trailing down between my legs again.
He replaces his dick with his fingers, and I tremble when he finds my G-spot. He pays it special attention, his gaze rapt on my face, until I find the pressure building again.
Higher.
Higher… and then it plateaus.
“You. In me. Now.”
He laughs. “Yeah? You don’t like this?”
“You’re fucking torturing me.” No matter how I move my hips, I can’t get enough.
“All right,” he finally accepts. “Tell me this: did you give it back to them? Whoever did this to you?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah. She’s probably sporting a pair of black eyes by now.”
He smiles. “Good girl. Now, let me take care of that for you.”
Fingers disappear, coming back to my breasts. Both hands. Pinching and rolling my nipples, tugging my breasts, while he notches himself again.
He thrusts forward hard enough to make me scream. I arch, my eyes barely staying open. He fucks me hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm. My fingers go to my clit. I rub little circles, the pressure just how I like it, until I’m riding the edge.
He locks eyes with me, and I nod.
“Now,” he groans.
I shove myself over the cliff, my orgasm somehow more intense than the first. I clench around him, and two fast pumps later, he comes, too.
Without a condom.