Emma
I’m giggling at nothing. I think it’s because I’m happy.
And get this: Dylan’s giggling, too. For this specimen of rugged masculinity to be snickering away like a schoolgirl on a sugar rush, he must be really happy.
“I feel like we’ve done this a million times already,” I say between chortles as we climb the stairs together.
“Done what?”
“Just…this. This whole routine—walking up the stairs, walking into the bedroom…”
“But, this is our first time doing any of that.” Dylan lets loose with a deep guffaw. “I’ve barely done any of that at this place.”
“I know.” I look down at the floor—it’s pine flooring, of course—and blush slightly as we reach the top of the stairs.
I stop walking, and so does Dylan. He lays a brawny, gentle hand on my shoulder, and I’m instantly tingly—not just where Dylan’s touching me, but all over.
I miss this feeling. It’s like slipping into my favorite sweater on the first chilly day of autumn.
Only this is way fucking better, because I’m looking at those chocolate eyes, and they’re gazing back at me with endless adoration, and I’m seriously about to liquefy right into the softwood floor.
“Why does it seem like we’ve done this a million times?” Dylan has a genuine curiosity in his voice and a genuine warmth in his smile.
It’s not the kind of smile I see very often back in Manhattan.
“I don’t know. It just feels...familiar. And comfortable—like something we’ve done a million times, even if this is the first time.”
“Maybe you can see into the future.”
There’s something new in Dylan’s eyes—a sparkle.
I look down again, because I may actually liquefy, and I remember that Dylan already freed me from my top.
The new cabin christening is well underway already. Dylan’s arms surround me in a cozy hug.
“I can maybe see the near future.”
My head is resting on Dylan’s chest as we sway softly, like trees in a gentle breeze.
“Oh? How near? Like the next couple of hours?”
“That sounds about right.”
“Can you tell me what happens?”
“Hmm. I’ll try.” I shut my eyes, pretending to concentrate. “Oh. Oh, my. Psychic visions aren’t usually this explicit.”
“It’s okay, don’t be bashful.”
“Well, okay. I see a guy, I can’t really see his face or anything, but he’s wearing flannel…and now he’s taking it off. Hoo, boy! That is one massive, beautiful cock he’s got...”
“You can’t tell who it is?”
“Well, there’s a woman there. She’s very stylish, and very lucky, from what I can tell.”
“She sounds fucking hot.”
“Hey!” I back away from Dylan, looking up at him with faux-indignation.
“We’re talking about you, right?”
Dylan and I lapse back into our laughing fit, punctuated by a little kiss.
Well, it starts with a little kiss, but that leads to us locking our lips hungrily, our tongues dancing and battling for a hot minute until that tingling returns strongly throughout my bottom half.
“I don’t know that for sure,” I say after our lips finally stop for a rest.
“You don’t know what for sure?”
“I…fuck, I forgot.”
“You’re so fucking hot.”
“I know.” I shrug. “So are you.”
Our lips meet again, refusing to stay apart any longer. Our tongues enjoy the same contentious relationship—wandering, wrestling, flailing around each other’s mouths thoughtlessly.
By the time we stop for another rest, we’re both breathing fast and heavy.
We laugh at nothing again for a second, and then my right hand starts wandering.
I can’t help myself. My eyes are on Dylan’s crotch, and my fingertips are running lightly up and down the crotch of his jeans, roaming teasingly up to his belt buckle and back.
Dylan undoes my bra expertly with one hand as I stare at his crotch with wide-eyed wonder.
I know it’s right there, and that moment when his colossal cock pops straight out from under those layers of fabric is coming. It’s imminent.
Holy shit, the anticipation is driving me insane. I’m about to come just thinking about it. I’m already so far beyond soaking wet, it’s absurd.
“We’re both hot, I guess,” whispers Dylan. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Okay,” I say, distracted by daydreams of that rock-hard duck.
Even after Dylan picks me up again and starts carrying me into the bedroom, I’m still mainly thinking about things soon to come.
As far as I’m concerned, they can’t come soon enough.
The new bedroom is airy and spacious, with few furnishings besides the king-sized bed.
Dylan deposits me gently on the sheets, and I sink slightly into the soft, foam mattress.
Dylan climbs onto the bed next to me and instantly let’s his fingers explore my body.
“What are you thinking about?” Dylan asks while kissing my shoulder, with clear intentions to move down to my left breast.
“Things to come.”
Dylan kisses my breast before lightly stimulating my nipple with his fingertips.
“Not yet,” he responds.
Yeah, I’m still thinking about Dylan’s cock, but as soon as I feel his fingers playing around the waist of my tights I get a tiny, anticipatory wave of ecstatic pleasure.
That focuses me, and I pull down my tights and panties in one fell swoop. Dylan’s fingers stay in the area, moving up and down my left leg slowly, gradually narrowing down the area around my inner leg, then moving in even closer…
I shift my legs away from each other, opening up my thighs and maybe speeding things up a little, since my pussy is now aching for Dylan’s touch.
Dylan takes the hint. His forefinger starts roaming around my wet, throbbing pussy. His touch is delicate, but I immediately start wriggling around on the sheets.
“Oof,”
Just as Dylan turns up the intensity with his finger, he stops abruptly.
“Hey! What the fu…”
Dylan’s tongue on my pussy stops the words dead in my throat.
I can’t stop the moans from escaping me. Dylan’s not teasing this time, drawing out the process or building towards it.
He’s just there, now, where I need him to be.
Dylan does a slightly off-center lick up my lips, and then spirals his tongue around in what is some sort of secret ancient code that’s making me writhe and speak in tongues.
When Dylan slows down to a near-stop, and I fear he’s about to take away his masterful tongue entirely, I grab the back of his head with both my fucking hands as a friendly reminder that I’m still enjoying this.
Again, Dylan gets the hint. His tongue keeps sliding around in all kinds of whirls and eddies, patterns that may or may not have any sort of rhyme or reason, but all scratch the itch of my boundless wanting the way nothing else can.
This time, when Dylan slows down, I slow down with him, and my breathing slows even as my heart speeds with exhilaration.
I’m surrounded by the warm glow as torrents of bliss cascade through me and around me.
I’m still reveling in the heavenly haze of the day’s first orgasm when I spot those chocolate eyes, no longer hard at work between my legs, but resting near me, on the pillow next to where I am.
“So,” Dylan begins. “What are you thinking about now?”
“Things to come, still.”
“Still? After that?”
I twist onto my side to face Dylan, realizing I’ll need to be a bit clearer.
“Things to come, still, out of your jeans.”
“Are you ready for that.” Dylan’s smiling, his answer is immediate.
He knows what he’s doing.
“That massive cock cannot be comfortable so constricted in all that denim. Come on, aren’t you hard?”
“Am I hard?”
Dylan’s incredulous. I’m striking the right chords.
He stands up on the bed, giving me the best seat in the house for the best show in the world—the unveiling of Dylan’s monstrous mountain cock.
If I needed proof that Dylan was actually hard, my vantage point is providing all the proof I need—that bulge is massive.
I don’t say a word about that, though. I just lie back, relax, and wait for the best part of the show.
Dylan starts undoing his belt buckle.
Then he stops.
“Wait a second…”
“Come on, Dylan. Don’t fucking stop now. I’m not waiting a second…”
“Why don’t you come here and see for yourself.”
Some people want all the work done for them, I guess.
I accept the invitation to take matters into my own hands. I jump into action, sending ripples across the mattress as I stand.
Dylan keeps his balance, staying as still and solid as a fucking anchor.
With my first step I almost topple over, but Dylan catches me, and my hands flat on his abs.
Regaining my balance, I let my palms slide to his belt, and I maintain fierce eye contact while undoing his belt buckle.
With that out of the way, I keep my eyes on the prize, running my fingers once more over that protruding bulge.
I undo the top button of Dylan’s jeans easily, and I finally make my way to the zipper.
It’s time to see that fucking cock again.