#SSceneC2017 : Cailin Briste vs Sharon Kay @CailinBriste @SharonKayNovels

Posted October 20, 2017 by Nix in Active Giveaway, Sex Scene Championship 2017 / 1 Comment

Maon: Marshal of Tallav – Cailin Briste

Author Links : Website | Twitter
Buy Links : Amazon | $7.29/£5.49

She bent over, covered his lips with hers, and claimed his mouth in a long, sultry kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, thrusting in rhythmic penetration. Perfect. When she broke the kiss, he groaned. She gave a low chuckle. “I have another use for that mouth of yours.”“Your pussy?” His voice had grown dark and heavy, plucking at the cords of arousal deep inside her.

“If you ask nicely.”

“Please, may I lick your sweet pussy, Lasair?”

Instead of verbally assenting, she toggled the foot pedal that lowered the bench, and when it had reached the desired height, she threw her leg over him. She’d trimmed her hair with this moment in mind. Now, positioned a scant inch above where he licked his lips, she swiped down, dragging her labia across his mouth. His tongue immediately darted out to lap up the slickness of her arousal while he moaned his pleasure. Each time the tip touched her clit, she savored the flash of blissful sensation. She ground against him, and he began sucking.

“Shit yes. Just like that.” She collapsed forward, grasping the sides of the bench by the top of his head. The upward spiral toward orgasm came hard and fast until the peak hit, and she shuddered, her pussy squeezing tight in a climax that thrust deep through her core. When clarity returned, Maon was moaning beneath her, using his tongue to stroke her clit, sending zinging pulses through her that made her twitch. Then he chuckled.

She panted and with a huff of air said, “Sweet man, you do that very well.”

When she swung her leg over and away, Maon licked his lips. “That was fun.”

“I have just the reward.” Her inner cat was purring but showed its teeth in a wicked grin.

Desire blazed from his eyes. “Please use your pretty mouth on me.”

“On no. Not this time,” she said while prying the green bottle from his hand. When she brought it up, Maon’s stomach tightened.

“This is a gift from Randolph. He’s thinking of calling it Ecstasy in a Bottle.” She unscrewed the cap and set the slim container next to Maon’s hip. With the attached brush, she painted his cock with short strokes, starting at the base just above where her fingers firmly gripped him. Fizzing. Swirling. Churning. The bubbling stuff had an immediate effect. Unable to lie still, Maon writhed to the extent the leather straps allowed. His jaw clenched, he sucked in air between his teeth.

She continued to paint his penis, finally reaching the top and twirling a large blob in the hole at the tip. His eyes rolled back in his head.

She put the bottle in the cupboard.

“Lights off.”

With the bottle hidden away, his glowing green cock was the only thing visible in the pitch-black. The slime moved with a life of its own. She stroked his body. Lax muscles had tightened, stiffening until his body was as rigid as the table beneath him. In the mirror, his erection was rippling fluorescent green. The scent of the spicy oil she used on his skin wafted around him. With a whisper in his ear, she said, “Breathe.” She chuckled at his attempt to suck air into a chest tight with tension.

His hips undulated in a rhythm of their own, thrusting up, pushing to attain some impossible pinnacle. With her fingers, she shared in his erratic twitches, watching while the goo assaulted every nerve fiber in his long cock. He was incredibly beautiful in his ecstasy, control shattered, voicing his abandon in gasps and moans, until with a long undulation he cried, “Lasair.”

When she caressed his balls with her finger, they pulled up hard.

“Lights on low.”

The point of no return arrived when hundreds of tiny bubbles burst at the base of his cock. The pinprick pops moved up his erection, reaching the tip, and he came in an exquisite rush of overwhelming pleasure. Cum shot in long streams, falling in warm stickiness on his chest and stomach. It was the most erotic sight she’d ever seen. His breath coming in quick pants, he lay undone and unmoving, unable to relax the upward thrust of his pelvis. She stroked his side, restoring his grip on reality, allowing him to settle against the table.

Record of Wrongs : Sharon Kay

Author Links : Website | Twitter
Buy Links : Amazon £5.38/£4.09

“You don’t wanna get undressed by the water?” Rosie’s voice husked, driving his lust as she hooked her thumbs under the straps at her hips.

“We’re not gonna make it to the water, babe.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head as she shimmed out of that thong.

God, she was beautiful. Did she even know how much? He vowed to savor her later. For now, his lust was wildly out of control. She pushed too far. And if this was her idea of teasing, taunting, pushing—she could do it every damn night. He’d be on board.

He threaded one hand to her nape and pushed her back to the warm steel of his truck. With a firm grip on her hair, he kissed her.

He devoured her mouth. Her body was hot against his and her hands roamed his shoulders, his back, like she couldn’t get enough. He dragged his free hand up her hip on a slow path to her nipple. He’d observed enough about her already to remember how sensitive she was there.

She shivered, though the night was still fucking humid. He stopped at the lower curve of her breast.

“Cruz,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” He didn’t move his hand. Instead he sucked at the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

“I…touch me,” she murmured like she could barely get the words out. “Please.”

He raised his hand slowly, skimming his palm over her tip.

She gasped. “God, yes.”

He repeated it on the other side. She was panting now. He pulled back to just look at her, so out of control. He’d take a mental snapshot and remember this for a long time. His sexy country girl, about to lose her mind. About to let him fuck her up against his truck in the middle of the damn woods.

Abruptly he dropped his hand to the vee of her thighs. A moan tore from her throat. He slid his fingers lower, finding the slick evidence of her readiness for him. “So fucking wet,” he murmured, stroking her body back and forth. “You’re ready for me.”

“Yes,” she said, though he hadn’t asked a question.

He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a condom. Holding it in his teeth, he made quick work of his belt and zipper.

She stared at his erection pushing against his boxer briefs. She flicked her eyes to his, then dragged her hands down his sides. She gripped the top edge of his underwear in her slender fingers, and tugged down. Inch by sensual inch. She gazed at him as if she were opening a present. The top of his shaft was exposed and she traced a finger along where it met his groin.

“One day Cruz, this won’t be my finger.” A stroke, light as air but heavy with promise. A rumble built in his throat. She was playing with fire. “It’ll be my mouth.”

His vision hazed and he freed his aching cock. Who would have ever thought sweet Rosie would be the queen of dirty talk? He couldn’t even wrap his head around all the nuances of her. He fell in deeper every time they came together.

He tore open the condom and rolled it on. Setting his hands on her hips, he lifted her up and leveraged her against the truck. She clutched his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips.

His cock bumped her heated flesh, making them both groan. “Rosie,” he growled, and positioned himself at her entrance. With aching slowness he slid her down.

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “Feels so good, baby.”

And why did her calling him baby feel so damn right? Hell.

He pushed up until he was balls deep in her sweetness. Nothing had felt this good, this wild before. He needed more, needed her, all of her, like he needed to breathe. He withdrew almost all the way and then sank deep again with a hard thrust.

Her body slammed against his truck. But she held his shoulders and scratched along his neck, tracing a path into his hair.
He plunged out and in again. Her breasts bounced, and he knew she’d get hotter if he played with them. With one hand under her ass, he brought the other up to tug one taut tip. Her lips parted on a soft sigh.

He couldn’t stop his rhythm if he wanted to. Her pussy milked him, every part of her squeezing him in a sultry heat. And her face—god, what had she said about not having a poker face? A myriad of expressions crossed her face: lust, surprise, need, delight.
Glancing down to their connection, he was fascinated by how her body took all of him. She maintained her hold on his shoulders and worked her hips, her face a mix of concentration and sex glow.

He dropped his hand to her mound, inching lower. She gasped, but her jaw dropped. “God, Cruz,” she moaned.

His fingers slinked lower, getting slick between her legs. He stroked her clit as he thrust inside her. Tiny sweet moans fell from her lips and she moved with him, rocking, pushing down on him. “I’m close,” she whispered around thrusts.

“Me too, babe. Hang on.” He gripped her ass tightly and unleashed the reins of his lust, pumping as hard and fast as he could. Every stroke only intensified the sensation, bringing him closer to orgasm. And at the same time the knowledge lurked that this was different. She was different.

She gasped and her body quivered as she came, legs trembling and hips grinding. Clutching his neck, she leaned in to bite his shoulder.

Fuck. No one had ever bitten his shoulder.

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