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“She pressed against him, the thrust of her hips no longer moving in a measured circular motion, but a jagged, erratic, desperate motion. She was near the edge. "August, August," she repeated over and over like she was in a trance. He twisted his fingers inside her and ground the palm of his hand against her, right against her clit. He pinched her nipple with his other hand. Her back arched as she came against his fingers, her body shaking, her eyes dazed with wonder and joy as a loud, prolonged cry spilled from her lips. Watching Sloane come was one of the top highlights of his life. But they weren't done. Once again, he turned their bodies. This time, Sloane landed underneath him. He hastily procured a condom from the nightstand drawer, donned it, and covered Sloane's warm, tempting body in less than ten seconds. She welcomed him back with open arms. He wasted no time, thrusting inside her in one smooth glide. He burrowed his head in her shoulder as his skin buzzed with lust. How had he denied himself for this long? Being with her like this left nirvana in the dust. Then she twined her legs around his waist and lifted her hips. "Oh, shit." How was it possible that this position felt even better? "August, please. Move." "Yes, ma'am." Her wish would always be his command. Her cries of harder, faster urged him on. She liked hard, long strokes. He could do this for the rest of his life if that's what she wanted. Each time she whimpered when he retreated, only to cry out in ecstasy when he returned, made his heart soar. Made his determination to make it even better for her to soar. The tingle started at the base of his spine and spread to his extremities. He wouldn't last much longer. But not without her. Never without her. He kissed her again and found her clit. When she got close, she liked him to press hard against the bundle of nerves. With her cries ringing in his ears, he came, stars shooting across his eyes, shaking with the intensity of the orgasm.” — Jamie Wesley