Every word she whispered drew another smile; he was delighted to share this with her, explore this with her, the amazing feeling of being so deep inside someone that you could feel their soul. Your body buried in theirs, in control of their pleasure, their pain.
Tight... The word drew a laugh. "It's been a long time," he told her again, pulling her deeper into himself, then shaking his head. "With boys. And even then, not like this..." George stretched, arching against her and biting his lip; he couldn't get enough of the ache she was causing inside him.
"You're big," he whispered, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. "On purpose," he added, sliding his hands between them, fingers teasing at the tight skin where their bodies joined. She was wet underneath, behind her cock, under the leather; he could feel damp warmth against his fingers...
And then she moved again, driving into him. He tensed, head back, gripping at his thigh, a harsh cry filling the air. "God, yes." He reached for her blindly now, finding a hand on his thigh and lacing his fingers through it, finding a hipbone and gripping it tightly. Desperate breathing and an odd, soft grunting came from somewhere nearby and George suspected it was his own voice.
He couldn't have cared less...
A hand gripped his cock and he whimpered, stroking himself without caring when he'd let go of her hip, only that it felt so good, gods, so good, the hard thickness filling him, fucking him, dragging him, pushing him, closer and closer. His hand grew slick. His breath came in short gasps of pleasure.
"Hard. Don't stop..." His hand tightened convulsively. "I want to be sore later..."