Jordan Haze
Hook Ups Scene 6
The room smelled like warm skin and perfume. She stood at the edge of the bed, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, light catching the delicate chain that hung from her navel piercing. He watched as the silver moved with every breath. She stepped closer, letting her knees brush his thighs, then lowered herself into his lap. The weight of her settled against him. Her eyes—deep brown, half-lidded—held his as she rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate. The friction sent heat straight through him. She leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. Her fingers traced down her own stomach, pausing at the glint of jewelry, then lower, tugging at the button of his jeans. The metal gave with a soft click. She freed him, wrapped her hand around the length of him, and stroked once, root to tip, slow. The pad of her thumb swept over the head, spreading the wetness there. She smiled against his jaw, then lifted just enough to position herself, guiding him to her slick opening. She sank down inch by inch. The stretch drew a quiet sound from her throat. When she bottomed out, hips flush to his, she paused. Her inner walls clenched around him once, twice. Then she began to ride. Short, shallow thrusts at first, building to longer strokes. Her breasts swayed with the motion. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. The navel chain swung in time with each thrust, catching the light. Sweat gathered between them. She moved faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Her breathing grew ragged. When she came, it was with a sharp cry and a full-body shudder that pulled him over the edge with her. He spilled inside her, hands clamped on her waist, holding her down as he pulsed.
The room smelled like warm skin and perfume. She stood at the edge of the bed, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, light catching the delicate chain that hung from her navel piercing. He watched as the silver moved with every breath. She stepped closer, letting her knees brush his thighs, then lowered herself into his lap. The weight of her settled against him. Her eyes—deep brown, half-lidded—held his as she rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate. The friction sent heat straight through him. She leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. Her fingers traced down her own stomach, pausing at the glint of jewelry, then lower, tugging at the button of his jeans. The metal gave with a soft click. She freed him, wrapped her hand around the length of him, and stroked once, root to tip, slow. The pad of her thumb swept over the head, spreading the wetness there. She smiled against his jaw, then lifted just enough to position herself, guiding him to her slick opening. She sank down inch by inch. The stretch drew a quiet sound from her throat. When she bottomed out, hips flush to his, she paused. Her inner walls clenched around him once, twice. Then she began to ride. Short, shallow thrusts at first, building to longer strokes. Her breasts swayed with the motion. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. The navel chain swung in time with each thrust, catching the light. Sweat gathered between them. She moved faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Her breathing grew ragged. When she came, it was with a sharp cry and a full-body shudder that pulled him over the edge with her. He spilled inside her, hands clamped on her waist, holding her down as he pulsed.