Chapter 29: She is getting it just right claiming her pussy
Logan kept the motion slow at first, guiding Caroline’s hips in those same controlled rolls even as the aftershocks of her orgasm still fluttered around his cock. The oil between them made every shift slick and filthy; the wet sound of her body accepting him filled the quiet bedroom. He watched her face the entire time—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with residual pleasure and the sharp edge of overstimulation.
"Breathe," he murmured against her temple. "You’re still clenching. Soften for me."
She tried. Her thighs trembled from the effort of holding herself upright after coming so hard. Logan’s hands never stopped moving. One stayed at the small of her back, steadying her; the other slid up her oiled spine and into her hair, gathering the damp strands and tipping her head back so he could trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. Every brush of his lips, amplified by the skill, sent fresh sparks racing under her skin. Soft, helpless sounds kept escaping her.
When the strongest tremors finally eased he eased her upright again. "Hands on my chest. Sit up straight. I want to see all of you."
Caroline obeyed, palms flat against the hard planes of his pectorals. The new posture made her breasts sway with every tiny movement. Logan’s gaze dropped openly, lingering on the way the oil gleamed across her nipples, on the soft curve of her stomach, on the place where she was stretched around him. He poured a little more oil into his palm and reached between them, coating the base of his cock and the swollen folds that gripped him. The lightest touch of those skilled fingers made her hips jerk.
"Easy," he said, voice low. "We’re starting again. Same rules. Slow rise. Feel every inch. Then sink all the way down and grind."
She lifted herself with shaky control. The thick head of his cock stretched her entrance, the oil making the withdrawal almost too smooth. When only the tip remained inside she paused, breathing hard, then began the long descent. Logan’s hands rested lightly on her thighs—guiding, not forcing—thumbs stroking the sensitive inner skin in slow arcs. The skill turned even that gentle contact into something that bordered on too much; her walls fluttered and a broken whimper left her throat.
"Good," he praised. "Again. And this time when you bottom out, roll your hips forward. Press your clit against me."
Caroline followed the instruction. The moment her swollen clit dragged across the hard muscle at the base of his cock a sharp cry tore free. Logan’s eyes darkened. He let her repeat the motion several times, watching the way pleasure and shyness warred on her face. Even after everything, the deliberate teaching still made her cheeks burn. The knowledge that she was a professional—someone who had ridden countless men—only made the contrast sharper. No client had ever slowed her down like this, forced her to feel every ridge and vein, every subtle shift of angle.
Minutes stretched. Logan kept the pace almost languid, correcting her posture with quiet words and the lightest pressure of his hands. "Arch more. Yes. Now grind in tighter circles. Feel how the head presses right there? Don’t rush past it."
She obeyed, thighs burning, soft desperate sounds spilling continuously. Sweat began to mix with the oil on her skin, making her gleam under the warm lamplight. Logan’s own control was fraying; the tight, rhythmic squeeze of her body and the visual of her taking him so obediently coiled heat low in his gut. Still he held back, determined to draw this out.
When her movements grew less coordinated he sat up again, wrapping one arm around her waist so their chests pressed together. The change in angle drove him even deeper. His mouth found the soft spot just below her ear.
"Faster now," he ordered quietly. "But keep the control. Rise halfway and drop. I want to hear how wet you are."
Caroline’s hips began to move with more urgency. The wet slap of her body meeting his grew louder. Logan’s free hand slid between them once more, two oiled fingers framing her clit without quite touching it. The near-contact alone was torment. She tried to chase the pressure, rolling forward harder, but he kept the contact just out of reach.
"Logan... please—"
"Not yet." His voice stayed calm even as his breathing roughened. "You’re going to ride me until your thighs shake. Then I’ll decide when you come."
She made a frustrated, needy sound but kept moving. The deliberate denial, combined with the constant low-level thrum of the skill every time his fingers flexed, pushed her higher with ruthless efficiency. Her walls clenched rhythmically around him; soft pleas spilled from her lips between broken moans.
Logan let the rhythm build a little more, then suddenly flipped them. In one smooth motion he rolled her onto her back, staying buried to the hilt, and hooked her knees over his elbows. The new position opened her completely. He braced above her and began to thrust—long, deep strokes that dragged the full length of him along her front wall on every withdrawal.
Caroline’s hands flew to his shoulders. The oil made their skin slide together with every movement. Logan’s gaze locked on hers as he fucked her with deliberate power, still controlled but no longer slow. Each thrust bottomed out with a wet sound. He shifted the angle slightly, searching, until the head of his cock found that swollen place inside her and stayed there, grinding in tight circles.
Her back arched hard. A loud, broken cry filled the room.
"There it is," he murmured. One hand slid between them again. This time his oiled fingers settled directly over her clit and began to move in firm, precise circles timed to his thrusts. The skill multiplied the sensation until it bordered on overwhelming; Caroline’s thighs shook violently around his arms.
"You’re going to come for me now," Logan said, voice rough against her ear. "Hard. And you’re going to keep your eyes open while you do it."