My Roomate's Cock Is Too Fat

Katerina Deville stood in Jax Slayher’s doorway, listening to the way his voice cracked around the words “it’s over.” She stepped in, arms open, and he pulled her close like she was the only steady thing left. The hug stretched. Under his sweats, something thick pressed against her hip—thick and hot and impossible to ignore. She slid a hand down, palm meeting the hard line of him through cotton, and her fingers tightened. “Fuck… can I?” she whispered. Jax exhaled, sharp. She sank to her knees before he answered. Heat poured off him when she tugged the waistband low. The head alone filled her mouth; the weight of it made her jaw ache and her throat flutter. Spit slicked her chin. Every time she pulled back for air she stroked the shaft, knuckles brushing his stomach, urging more of him past her lips. Soon he hauled her up, spun her around, and drove into her from behind. Each thrust pinned her hips to the mattress. The slap of skin echoed sharp and wet. Then he flipped her, spread her thighs wide, and slammed deep again—slow grind at the bottom, hard snap on the outstroke—until her stomach fluttered, her eyes rolled, and she came loud enough to rattle the blinds. She shoved him flat and climbed on. The stretch hurt so good her teeth clicked together. Hands on his chest, she bounced until her second orgasm cracked through her, thighs shaking, nails digging crescents into his skin. When her grip loosened, he pushed her off, pushed her onto her back, and stroked that heavy cock until ropes of thick cum painted her lips, cheeks, the bridge of her nose. She licked what she could, tasting salt and sweat, already plotting the next time.