Trust by PJ Adams Page B

freed it. Found the zipper.
    Slid a hand inside the tight confines of her jeans, the flimsy fabric of her panties. Found soft, wet heat.
    She was crying aloud now, a low, guttural groan. Growing more intense as he sucked that nipple in hard between pursed lips.
    Her hands... One on the back of his head, clamping him hard against her. The other, lower, the thumb still hooked into his waistband. Fingers pressing downward.
    He felt a button give, and now her hand shifted and it was her turn to find a zipper, tug urgently.
    That easing of pressure as his trousers parted, and then she touched him down there for the first time... The flat of her hand against his belly, fingers pointing down, sliding inside the taut fabric of his shorts.
    Her fingers in that coarse tangle of hair. A fingertip hard against the base of his shaft, fingernail pricking at the skin.
    Her hand moving down, fingers moving along either side of his hard shaft. Twisting to curl around him, steer his erection sideways and then up, flat against his belly.
    He pressed his own hand now, deep in her jeans, his middle finger parting her softness, finding the tight, muscular opening of her pussy.
    Pressing.
    Pushing inside.
    Her breath was hot on his cheek and neck. The fine tangle of her hair against his face.
    That focus of sensation: her hand flat against his shaft, pressing it against his belly, fingers along its length. Pressing and rocking against him, just as he had done to her in the car.
    He straightened, reached across, flipped the shower controls, and jets of hot water erupted from the big shower head, near to where they stood.
    He stepped back, kicked off his shoes and socks, pulled his trousers and shorts down, and then stood there, naked before her.
    Her eyes were fixed on him. Roaming and exploring his body, before locking on his gaze, skewering him with her look as she dropped her bra, kicked her shoes away, reached for her jeans, pulled them down those long, slender legs and then, finally, came to stand there, naked.
    She was slim, but beautifully proportioned. Full breasts, slender waist, belly with that delicious, so feminine curve to it, pussy shaved to a finger-wide strip a few shades darker than her hair.
    He went to her, then, bent a little so he could slide an arm under the back of her legs, another around her shoulders, lift her. Hold her, his erection standing high beneath her, the head nudging against her back as he moved.
    He carried her across to the hot jets of the shower and moved under the water with her.
    Hot water cascaded over them. As if rehearsed, they simultaneously tipped their heads back to catch the full blast. The weight of her body in his arms felt like nothing, no effort at all, yet at the same time its solidity reinforced that thing inside him. The knot that was some kind of tension, some of that fear he’d felt earlier when he’d realized he was falling, a sharp hunger.
    Slowly, he lowered her. She twisted, turned against him, wet limbs and torso sliding down his body. His hard dick was pulled sideways, down, as she slid against him, then she eased back and it sprang up between them again.
    She started to move, pussy against his balls, the smooth wetness of her belly sliding against his shaft.
    His hands found her ass, cupped her, lifted her again, this time moving her backward until she was against the wall again, one foot on the ground, the other lifting as he moved a hand under her knee, drawing that leg up.
    Bending at the knees, he slid himself down, until the head of his dick dragged along that narrow strip of hair and down, finding softness that yielded, parted.
    He pushed up and held, barely inside her, poised.
    Eyes locked on hers.
    Water streaming down over their bodies.
    “I don’t do this,” he said. “I don’t... fall .”
    And then he pushed again.
    Upwards. Slowly, so slowly, until he was fully inside, grinding against her, pushing up until he took all of her weight on that point where their wet