Free The Gift by Portia Da Costa Page A

wanted more of it.
    As Jay’s latex-clad cock pressed against her sex, his hard lips curved into the faintest of small wry smiles. For a second, she struggled to divine it, then gave up the fight to do anything other than enjoy the all-consuming sensation of being filled and stretched and fucked.
    Again she clung to him, compelled by an inchoate longing to climb inside him even as he pushed inside her. She grabbed onto his shirt and the back of his trousers, using them as leverage to push and push and push herself against him. Her feet hooked around the back of his calves, her body flexing to increase the contact and get as much of him inside her as was humanly possible.
    Every sense was as sharp as a pin, yet the moment was dreamlike. She could feel every hard millimetre of his cock inside her, imposing its length and girth on the soft yielding walls of her sex. His weight bore down on her. His scent intoxicated her. The sharp rhythm of his breathing seemed to blend with the beat of her own heart as he thrust into her. And when she opened her eyes again, not quite remembering when she’d closed them, she saw a fugue state on his face that matched her own.
    His expression was intense, but also contemplative, and he seemed far away, detached from her, apart. His eyes were closed, his incongruously long black eyelashes resting like arcs of silk against his cheekbones. Even his network of scars had acquired a strange and magical glamour.
    The small thinking area of her mind wondered what
he
was thinking. Because she knew that he was thinking. Jay Bentley wasn’t a man who turned his mind off during sex. Jay Bentley was a man who used his faculties, all the time.
    Despite the pleasure, the ever-growing, ever-swelling pleasure as he pounded into her, despite the thumping oftheir bodies against Kat’s less than immaculate mattress, Sandy felt a new plume of antagonism.
    I’m here! It’s me! Fuck me, not some fantasy in your head!
    Scrabbling at the back of his trousers, she pushed her hands inside them, and beneath the waistband of his half-pushed-down trunks. Her fingers flexing fiercely, she grabbed at the hard, tensing muscles of his buttocks.
    His eyes flew open, flaring with light, as she dug in her nails and flung up her hips in time to the concerted, rhythmic pressure. Laughing, he ploughed her harder.
    ‘Witch!’ he hissed.
    ‘Bastard,’ she shot back, hysterical laughter of her own bubbling up.
    They threw themselves at each other, scrabbling, jerking, battering each other with their bodies. Jay, bigger of course, got the better of it, imposing his strength and his hard-won athleticism upon her. He’d clawed his way back from terrible injuries, that was obvious, but now he was supreme and powerful. More so, she sensed, than he’d ever been. And she was the lucky woman reaping the benefits!
    Each long hard lunge of his hips knocked their bodies together. Each knock pressed and tugged on her clit, relentlessly ramping up the pleasure. Still laughing, she growled with lust, yapping like an animal revelling, without conscious thought, in pure sensation.
    When the orgasm came she shouted, her loins melting and her heart soaring with a transcendent exhilaration. Dimly aware that her cries would be clearly heard in the rest of the house, if not the next street, she only whooped louder and dug her nails hard into Jay’s backside.
    Jay let out an oath, blue and profane, his own fingers flexing cruelly and digging into her as his body convulsedtoo. His pelvis jerked like a hammer and, in the midst of her own chaos, she felt the distinct lurch of his cock, and the heavy pulse of his semen pumping within her. He seemed to thrust on and on as if he’d not come for years.
    Afterwards, it was like emerging from the bunker after a twister had passed over. In a moment of pure panic, Sandy thought she’d lost the ability to breathe, until she realised that it was simply Jay’s weight lying on her that was hampering her chest