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BPOV:

This man is a fucking machine. A talented fucking machine. And I mean that both in the sense that he needs the term to emphasize his efforts and the fact that he is literally a machine that fucks.

Recovery rate? Minutes. Stamina? Impeccable. Sheer fucking beauty in the way he moves and sounds and smells? Out of this world.

He doesn't stop; making me come with his mouth or his fingers between rounds, putting me in positions I've only ever seen in books and porn. Each adds such a delicious, different feeling that only makes me crave more, touching and kissing and licking every goddamn inch of my body. Places I don't think have ever been touched by lips or tongues before.

When he's pounding into me from behind, he wraps my hair around his fist and smacks my ass so hard it'll probably be bruised tomorrow. (Not that I'll mind.) His nails drag down my spine, and his hips slap against me in sharp, harsh strokes, and his mouth says so many dirty things I could probably come just from his words alone.

And then when he's on top of me, classic missionary, he strokes my face and kisses me softly, and tells me how beautiful I am.

When I'm riding him, he helps me move with the tips of his fingers bruising my hips and demands I tell him all my fantasies. He vows to make them all come true, and then he lifts me up and pounds into me from below, looking all kinds of delicious with his flexing muscles and sweat I've licked from his skin more than once tonight.

And when we make it into the shower, and I take him into my mouth, I watch him throw his head back and tell me how good my mouth feels. How he'll never get tired of me. How bad he wants to cum all over my pretty face.

And I let him, and then I wipe it off with my fingers and swallow every drop. Because I'll never get enough of him, either.

The whole night is dirty and depraved, and filthy. We go through all the condoms he brought, as well as putting a dent in my personal stash. This is gonna get expensive, but I don't fucking care.

Because it's also so fucking fun and feels like it's exactly where I'm supposed to be.

We laugh just as much as we scream. We play just as much as we fuck.

And when we finally can't do it anymore, and we collapse on top of each other, I'm not sure where he ends, and I begin.

I'm not even sure I want to find out.


Okay, maybe we get back to a little plot now? But not for too long ;)