Sarah

Sam is on me in an instant. I give his collar a good yank. His arms buckle, and he collapses on top of me. His weight is just the right side of crushing—enough to pin me firmly on my back without knocking the breath out of me. I wrap my legs around him. His cock’s hard, already, and so is the rest of him: I can feel taut muscles rippling under his clothes, as I grip on tight.

He’s biting at my ear, little hungry pecks that have me begging for more. When he licks a long line down my throat, and breathes on the wet skin, I feel it all the way down my side, a tingle that starts below my earlobe, and ends at my toes. “That’s it—that’s good!”

I want him even closer. It’s been a weird, tense night. All that nervous energy has to go somewhere, and Sam seems to feel the same way. I tug his shirt free of his pants, and plunge my hands underneath. He groans when my nails prick his shoulder blades, shudders when I rake them down his ribs.

When I ghost my palms over the newly sensitive skin, he thrusts against me, like he just can’t help himself. His hand’s at my throat—when did that get there?—and he’s not choking me, but I feel a terrible thrill knowing he could. His cufflinks come loose, and I can see the corded strength of his forearm, where his sleeve’s fallen open.

I need that shirt off him.

He’s way ahead of me: his hand’s crept from my throat to my collar, and he’s working at the buttons of my dress. It’s taking far too long.

“Rip it off.”

He hooks a finger under the first button. “Oh, really?” He flashes a teasing grin. “What’ll the cops think, when they find you curled up on my couch—“ He jerks at the button. It goes flying. “—wearing my clothes—“ Two more buttons skitter across the floor. “—smelling like my shampoo—“ He grabs a fistful of fabric, and yanks. I feel cool night air all the way to my thighs. “—with that crazy sex hair, like....” He ruffles my hair. “Mmm. Just like that?”

“They’ll think we—“ Oh, that’s distracting, the way he’s tracing the contours of my breasts through my bra. He flicks at my nipple, and I forget what I was going to say. “We’re adults. They can—yes!—again, like that!—they can think what they want.”

By this time, I’ve freed him from his tie. By the time he’s found the clasp of my bra, his shirt’s on the floor. I rear up and bite his chest, just above the right nipple. He growls again, and thrusts a hand into my hair, right at the base of my neck. He makes a fist, and twists. It tugs, rather than hurts, and I love the sensation of being at his mercy.

“Come up here,” I tell him, and he does, almost straddling my face. His fly’s already half-unzipped. I push his pants down his thighs. The black silk briefs he’s wearing underneath do nothing to hide his impressive bulge. I nuzzle at it, through the fabric, working my lips up and down the length. Can’t wait to get my lips around that. I mouth at the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum already.

He’s got both hands in my hair now, alternating between stroking and pulling. I’ll definitely get sex hair, at this rate. I definitely don’t care.

I dip a finger under the waistband of his briefs, just grazing the tip of his cock. It twitches and jumps. His whole body tenses. My other hand explores his torso, tracing the firm swell of his pecs, the hard lines of his abs. Sam’s breathing hard, sweating lightly. I nip the crest of his hip, and work down from there, lapping and kissing. When he starts to relax, I grip his thigh hard enough that my nails sink in. His cock swells and throbs against my cheek.

Time to get a look at that thing.

I divest him of his underwear nice and slow, like I’m unwrapping a present. And I’m not disappointed: he’s long and thick, and decidedly ready for action.

I kind of want him to give me a show before I swallow him: cradle my head in his hand, while he jerks off in front of my face. But the desire to taste wins out, and I take his length in my hand, and trace my lips with the tip, like I’m putting on lipstick. I pull back just enough to smile up at him, with his juices gleaming on my lips. He’s looking back at me with something like awe. Perfect.

When I finally take him into my mouth, I think he almost comes right there: he goes rigid all over and bites his lip. I give his ass a good pinch, and squeeze the base of his cock to keep him in check. When I’m sure he’s got himself under control, I start to flutter my tongue around his head. I lap at the slit, and trace every contour, till he’s thrusting his hips, desperate to bury himself in my mouth.

I take him slow, dragging out the torture. He jerks and spasms in my mouth, as my lips glide down, inch by inch. His hands twitch in my hair, like it’s all he can do to keep from pulling me down.

“You’re...you’re....” He doesn’t get any further than that. I choose that moment to moan lightly, so my lips vibrate on his shaft. “Ah!”

There’s a sudden, huge noise: a crack so loud it feels like it’s happening inside my head; the tinkle of shattered glass. I jump back with a yelp. Sam yanks his pants up, and jumps between me and the window. It’s gone—the window’s gone, and I can’t see anything but darkness, on the other side.

“Where’s your dog?” I know it’s Vince; I know we’re in the worst kind of danger, but somehow, all I can think about is the dog. He was right here, but now, he’s— ”Sam—Sam, where’s your dog?”

“Ran off with my shirt twenty minutes ago.” He reaches back and squeezes my knee. “Get behind something—something solid.”

I pull the tattered remnants of my dress around me, and dart behind the woodstove. It’s an old cast-iron one, built to last. By the time I gather the courage to peek out, Sam’s pressed to the wall by the blasted-out window, rifle at the ready. When he sees me looking, he makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger: all good!

I’m having a tough time believing that.