Driving Miss Delaney Crazy

Brooklyn

 

 

 

“NO WAY. LADY’S FIRST.” I knew a hard expression etched my face as I sank down on the floor in front of her.

She poised on the edge of the plush leather chair—so feminine, so womanly, so strong surrounded by everything masculine, including me.

“Take the panties off for me,” I ordered.

Lifting her legs, pointing her toes, Delaney slithered the lacey thong down her hips, along her thighs, and completely off her legs. She laid her feet on the woven rug.

“What now?” Her breasts thrust up, the hot dimes of her nipples calling to my mouth.

“Now I take over.”

Running my hands from her ankles to her sleekly muscled calves to her inner thighs, I spread her open. I hauled her thighs over the arms of the chair, hooking her open . . . wide.

“Brooks?”

I smiled at her. “Trust me.” I nipped the inside of her upper thigh. “And scream as loud as you want.”

Taking her by surprise, I leaned over her and melded our mouths together. My cock dragged along her slit, the wet heat nearly compelling me inside. But just because I said we weren’t gonna make it to the bed didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna take my time.

From her lips I kissed all over her breasts. I handled the round orbs, licking roughly, pinching lightly. My cock filled with another surge of blood when she arched her back, pushing each mound further into my mouth. The heavy weight of my dick slipped away from her cunt as I hunched over her, her slickness on my shaft cooling.

Aching.

Down her stomach, through the soft black line of hair, I trailed my tongue. I drew back just so I could get a gander at her hot cunt.

My breath swished over her molten pussy, and her clit peeped out. A pink trembling bud I was gonna suck and lick and tease until she begged me to stop.

The muscles in Delaney’s tummy stood out as she lifted her head to watch me. With her hands at her thighs, she spread even wider.

An invitation I couldn’t resist.

A low growl reverberating through my chest, I delved my mouth down to her swollen little cunt. Every caress of my tongue had her howling. Each time I circled a finger around her clit, she thrust against me. I slid a fingertip deep and traced her labia with my tongue, greedily eating, sucking, fucking, tasting.

Two fingers.

Three.

Opening her.

Readying her.

Lashing orgasm upon orgasm through her with every hot fast brandish of my tongue or slow circular roll of my fingers.

Delaney’s hips rode up against me, and she smashed me against her succulent pussy.

“Brooks! Brooks!” Her thighs trembled.

When I drew wet hands—slick from her—to her tits and flicked her nipples, she climaxed with a hard tug to my hair.

Arching, screaming, thrashing, panting. She fought for breath.

Thick. Hard. Throbbing. Filled with the thunderous need to come, I stood.

I fisted my cock from root to bulbous head, spreading shiny fluid around. I waited long enough for Delaney to catch her breath. Open her eyes. Part her lips. Then I pulled her head forward. Bracing my legs wide, I fed half my length into her mouth.

No words.

She sighed when I eased back out.

Her hand wrapped around my slippery cock, she asked, “This the kind of massage you were talking about?”

My dick thumping with need, I pushed it between her lips again. “Close.”

My cock kicked on her tongue. She looked up at me, long feathery lashes fluttering, full breasts beneath. Veins pounded along my length with every sloppy slithering slurp. She snaked around the head with her tongue. She snuck down to lap my balls. She open-mouth kissed the sides of my cock until she reached the engorged, deeply colored head. And with her blowjob lips she gave me the best head of a lifetime.

Breaths caught in my throat.

Blood rushed through my veins.

Brain cells may have exploded in my head.

I almost lost it in Delaney’s mouth, but I pulled free, crouched down, wrenched her thighs over the arms of the chair again.

On my knees, I slammed into her. One thrust. Roaring, rooting deep, I snatched her face up to my kiss. One kiss. Our tongues reaching. Bodies stretching. Mind-howling pleasure.

At just the right height to fuck her on the leather armchair, I drove into her. Tip to balls. In and out. All the way. Every thrust.

Constant wails echoed from her throat.

Grunts gusting from my chest, I stood. Drew her further down. Leveraged above her on the balls of my feet. I blasted into her suctioning cunt, driving down with my entire body opening her.

Consumed by Delaney, I groaned. I fucked. I watched her.

She grabbed my ass, pulling me harder. Harder.

She lifted her hips, plunging me faster. Faster.

She arched and stilled, her lips wet, her mouth open . . . voiceless.

Her cunt gripped my hard-driving cock, sucking, milking, making me spill in sharp short lunges that wet her pussy and dripped down to my ballsack.

Closing my eyes, I stayed inside Delaney, pulling her onto the rug in my lap.

Short of breath, thoughts . . . short of everything but the feeling of her body still clenching at my cock, I quaked inside. Outside. All over my body. Definitely in my heart I’d thought Brianna had broken.

Guessed my heart still beat. Could beat. Would beat. For someone else. Someone so unexpected.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” I husked out, my voice at Delaney’s ear.

“Are you going somewhere besides the game Saturday night?” She nestled against me.

“No. I meant here.” I rolled my hips, sending the ever-hard length of my cock womb deep again.

“Ahhhh!” She ground down on me for more.

“And here.” Kissing her neck, I placed my hand over her heart.

“Oh, Brooks.” With catlike grace, she pushed me onto my back. “I don’t want you to leave me either.”

“Then I won’t.” Shifting her beneath me, I speared deeply into her. “So don’t pull away.”

After the hot sex in the middle of the living room, after I spread out blankets and Delaney tossed cushions on the floor, I padded to the kitchen to gather up much needed supplies. Beer, sandwiches, cheese, and fruit we ate in front of the fire I built.

Another hungry growl rumbled from me, probably more for Delaney than for food.

But I ate. Mechanically. I watched. Hypnotized. Girl had an appetite on her.

“You want dessert?” I asked, and my dick waved from my lap, saying Pick me! Pick me!

She sat, just as naked as me. Hence the new hard-on. “I dunno. Calories, right?”

 “Yeah. Gotta watch those cal—” My head knocked back, come already fueling my balls, my voice cut short when she reached forward and stroked my dick with a loose hand.

“Calories?” she asked, head tilted.

Delirious for Delaney.

Despite wanting nothing more than to pull her lips over my cock, I figured I owed her a little bit of that romance thing since I’d pretty much ravished her the second we stepped into the house.

I gently disengaged her hand. Stumbled to my feet, my stupid dick leading the way. At the stereo system, I keyed into Paula Cole and “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone”.

The song started with a soft tone and hard beats.

“Come dance with me.” I held out my hand.

“I already figured you for a country boy.” Delaney leaped up, swiveling her hips in my direction. “And I saw you dance with the cheerleaders.”

Raw heat splashed across my cheeks. “Shit. I hoped you wouldn’t mention that.”

“I liked the booty shorts.” She slinked against me, and I wrapped my arms around her.

I groaned then frowned when she suddenly drew away.

“We’re naked.” She backed up.

“I know.” I stalked toward her.

“Dancing naked in the living room with giant windows all around . . .”

“Don’t worry.” I twirled her into my arms. “Jester and Cinnamon can’t see all the way inside from the stable.”

Her laughter floated on the air, and her body collided against mine.

I turned her in a two-step, swirling her out, drawing her back in.

She flicked her hair, grasping my hand and my hip. “Are we going to make it to bed this time?”

“I was thinking about a lap dance.”

“Not in my repertoire.” She swished backward, her breasts swaying, her hips gyrating, her lips pursed.

“I meant I’d give one to you.” I stroked my beard, striding forward.

“Crazy.” Pushing me back, she smothered her laughter.

****

Uh huh. I wasn’t too manly to brag about it. I’d given Delaney that lap dance and ended up with her dancing in my lap. Sinking my dick deep. Coming so hard I beat my head back, my cock up, holding her to me while wild ripples melded our bodies together.

Two weeks later and all was right in my world. Okay, maybe all wasn’t hunky-fucking-dory, but at least I had the woman. Which was saying a lot, considering for the first couple months after I met Delaney, she’d totally iced me out.

The Ice Queen had officially melted.

Delaney spent at least three nights a week at my house. She’d even moved in some clothes and toiletries. I went to her away games when I could, always on hand to cheer her and the Carolina Cougars on in their run for the Artemis League Cup. We hadn’t talked much more about Eric the Fuckhead, and neither one of us mentioned the big L-word, besides nonstop never-ending pure aching Lust. But I was just happy Delaney had finally opened up to me in a major way.

What wasn’t so happy-go-fucking-lucky in my life? The losing streak the Crush was on. The string of defeats had started with the New York Dragons and just wouldn’t quit. Team morale was in the bucket. If 2016 turned out to be as suicidal as the 2015 season, I could be out of a contract. Peyton could still sell Carolina Crush. And worse yet? A lot of the mistakes that had us on a downward spiral fell on my shoulders. Butterfingers was becoming my brand—not Baller. It was embarrassing, frustrating, and my lack of focus was throwing me off my game.

Frankie Burelli still hadn’t located Eric, the psycho asshole who was never far from my mind.

But it was Thanksgiving. I promised to cook, Delaney was baking, and after an early-ending practice, I had the turkey in the oven, fixings in the making, and Calder and Bunyan planned on joining us for the feast since they were flying stag and so far from home base.

Football, friends, and a woman I was falling for—perfect trifecta.

I basted the turkey, the kitchen filling with the mouthwatering scent of roast meat, and my phone rang.

Frankie Burelli.

“Happy Thanksgiving and all that,” he said in his big gruff voice.

“Yeah, man. Same to you. Aren’t you celebrating today?”

“About to head over to Josh Stone’s. Finally forgave him for being a total hetero.” He chuckled. “’Sides, he’s got that wild little boy and the cute baby girl so I’m like honorary uncle or somethin’. Who’da thought, right? Anyways, not why I’m calling. Finally tracked down that stronzo you been looking for.”

About fucking time.

I listened intently, my frown digging deeper with every word he said in his thick NYC accent. I was just ending the call when the front door opened. Had to be Delaney. By the time she entered the kitchen—all fresh and beautiful and bearing the baked goods—I’d pocketed the phone, and new tension vibrated through my shoulders.