The air in the hut was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, musky tang of sweat—ours, mingled together in the oppressive heat. Kerry's voice slithered into my ear like a secret, her breath warm against my skin.
"Dexter... is your cock hurting again?" Her fingers twitched near my thigh, just close enough to tease, to make my pulse spike. My mind raced.
If I played this right—if I let the lie sit on my tongue just so—she'd drop to her knees, her lips parting, her tongue swirling over the head of my cock, using her saliva as an excuse to "heal" me. But that wasn't what I wanted. Not this time.
I wanted her cunt. Needed it. Craved the way it would clamp down around my cock—wet, tight, and desperate—her nails raking down my back as I pounded into her like an animal. The thought alone made my cock jolt, the thick, heavy cock already standing rigid, the swollen head weeping with need.
