Free Well Hung by Lauren Blakely

my hair, you mean?”
    She moves in close and bites my jaw. “Your dick, Wyatt.”
    My skin sizzles as I spread her legs. “You pervert.”
    “I look at your arms and your waist, then I can’t help myself. I check out your dick. Do you know you get hard at work?”
    I laugh loudly. “Gee, I wonder why? Could it be the scenery? Maybe the stone-cold fox at the front desk?”
    She chuckles, too. “I knew you were looking at me like you wanted to fuck me. I looked at you the same way, and all I could think was how . . . well hung you are.” She wiggles her eyebrows then laughs louder. “That sounds so seventies porn, doesn’t it?”
    “Didn’t you know I used to star in seventies style porn?”
    She drags her index finger over my top lip. “Did you have a ’stache?”
    I nod. “A proper porn ’stache. I wore super-tight jeans that flared at the bottoms. Especially when I played the pool guy or the pizza delivery man.”
    She hums her approval. “Maybe you can bring your VHS collection over some night, and we’ll catch up on your greatest hits. Did they call you Well Hung?”
    “Not only did they call me Well Hung, I had a whole series under that name.” I drop my voice to an admonishing whisper. “But honestly, Natalie, don’t you know? They were all Beta tapes. Make sure you have a Betamax machine for our movie and popcorn bow-chicka-wow-wow night.”
    I tug her to the edge of the pinball machine and bring her hands to the waistband of my jeans. Now I’m serious. No more joking. “That’s what you were doing all those times? Wondering how it would feel to wrap your hands around my cock?”
    She nods, her eyes shining with desire. “Sometimes I’d go home and just think about what it would be like to unbutton your jeans, slide my hands into your boxers, and feel you in my hand.”
    Jesus Christ. Wildfire sparks in my veins, spreads through my blood and just fucking ignites me with more desire than I’ve ever felt in my life.
    “Then find out,” I say, dragging her hands along the button, popping it open, and guiding her fingers down the zipper. “Do it. Touch my dick.”
    Her eyes are hungry, as if she’s about to have her biggest fantasy come true. Same for me. I’m about to fuck my Natalie.
    I push my briefs down, and when my cock springs free, Natalie’s eyes widen. Her mouth falls open. “I was right,” she whispers, and then opens her legs wider as she wraps a soft hand around my cock.
    I hiss from the delicious fire of her touch. She rubs me up and down, her hand sliding along the long, hard, thick length of me. I nudge her legs wider as she plays. The look in her eyes is good enough to photograph. I want to remember it for a long time. Her irises are hazy with lust, and she gazes at my cock as she strokes.
    She touches me like she’s measuring it, weighing my dick in her hand, and I know she’s satisfied. Maybe that sounds cocky, but I don’t mean it that way. If she’s pleased, it’s because we’ve just admitted that we want each other with the same wild abandon, that we’ve both been longing for the other in the same dirty way. And that’s what’s so goddamn rewarding about finally touching the person you crave—it’s in knowing you’re both in the game, equal stakes.
    She squeezes my dick hard, then rubs higher, running her fingertip over the head. I stretch my neck back, and a rumble works its way up my chest. “Fuck, Natalie. I need to be inside you. And I need it right the fuck now.”
    She opens the wrapper and hands the condom to me, and ten seconds later, I’m gloved up and ready for business. I scoot her an inch or two closer, position my cock at her entrance, and then push in. My brain shuts down the second my dick comes in contact with her hot, wet center. I’m only feeling .
    It’s a catalogue of spine-crackling sensations. The hot tightness. The slick wetness of her arousal that makes it so goddamn easy to slide into her. The snug fit of my dick in her pussy.