Chapter 8
Author's POV
He sat alone in the dim glow of his bedroom lamp, the air thick with the scent of his own arousal.
His right hand wrapped firmly around his thick, throbbing cock—veins pulsing under the taut skin, the swollen head already slick with precum that leaked in steady beads down the shaft.
He stroked slowly at first, savoring the friction, eyes squeezed shut as he let the fantasy take over completely.
It wasn't his hand. It was Willow.
Willow, with her soft, full tits bouncing as she straddled him, her tight, dripping pussy sliding down every inch of his cock until she bottomed out, her walls clenching greedily around him.
He could almost feel her—hot, silky, soaking wet—grinding her hips in that perfect rhythm, her slick folds stretching around his girth while she moaned his name like a filthy prayer.
"Fuck, Willow…" he growled low, voice muffled.
He reached for the stolen pair of her black lace panties—the ones he'd swiped from her laundry basket days ago—and pressed them to his face.
The crotch was still faintly stained from her, that sweet, musky scent of her cunt hitting him like a drug. He inhaled deeply, tongue darting out to lap at the fabric where her pussy lips had pressed against it.
He sucked the material into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the spot that had cradled her clit, tasting the faint salty-sweet tang of her arousal mixed with the faint trace of her body wash.
Heaven.
Pure fucking heaven.
"Faster," he rasped through the panties, voice hoarse with need.
His hand sped up, fist pumping his cock harder now—long, rough strokes from base to tip, thumb swiping over the sensitive head on every upstroke, smearing his precum everywhere.
His balls drew tight, heavy and aching, slapping softly against his thigh with each frantic tug.
In his mind, Willow was riding him like she owned him. Naked, flushed, her nipples hard little peaks begging to be sucked.
She slammed down onto his cock again and again, her juicy ass rippling with every bounce, her creamy pussy creaming all over his shaft, coating his balls, dripping down to his ass.
"You like that, baby?" she'd whisper in his fantasy, leaning forward so her tits swayed in his face, her clit grinding against his pubic bone. "You like how my tight little cunt fucks you?"
He replayed every stolen moment they'd shared—the way her hips swayed when she walked past him in the hallway, the accidental brush of her tits against his arm when she reached for something, the husky laugh she gave when their eyes locked a second too long.
He imagined pinning her down instead, spreading those soft thighs wide, burying his face between them and devouring her soaked pussy until she screamed, then flipping her over and pounding into her from behind while she begged for more.
His strokes turned brutal. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room—skin slapping skin, his fist flying up and down his glistening cock. The panties stayed glued to his face, his tongue fucking the lace like it was her clit, sucking harder, moaning into the fabric.
"Willow—fuck—gonna fill you up," he panted.
Three more savage strokes and he exploded.
Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering hot and sticky across his abs, his chest, even hitting the underside of his chin. His hips bucked wildly, hand milking every last pulse, every spurt, until his shaft twitched empty and oversensitive in his grip.
"Fuuuuck…"
He groaned long and deep, green eyes fluttering open, glazed and heavy-lidded with raw lust. His chest heaved, cum cooling on his skin, the panties still draped over his mouth like a filthy trophy.
Willow had no idea what she did to him.
But one day… she would.