
He pulled away. "I'm a mess," he mumbled. "Do you want me to shower?"
I shook my head. "I want you fresh from the fight," I whispered and placed my hand between his legs. My fingers closed on soft balls that rose up as I cupped them and then on a hard, erect shaft, which I stroked through the silk of his shorts before pulling out his waistband and releasing his quivering hard-on. It was a perfect match for the rest of his body: thick, stout, and strong. He pulled my panties to one side and began to gently stroke my clitoris, my juices seeping on to his bandaged hands. He slid one finger inside me, and my greedy hole tightened around it. With his face buried in the crevice of my breasts, he took first one swollen nipple, then the other, between his tongue and lips and sucked gently again. The softer his tongue, the hotter and wetter my pussy got. I had always imagined that my gentle giant would reserve his softest touches for me.
I lowered myself down his body, my pussy and bush tickling the length of his chest from his pecs to his rock-hard stomach until I was positioned just over his dick. Shifting around until I felt the tip of it, I lowered myself down on it gently, gently, slowly feeling his warmth and bulk fill me up and stretch my insides. I was aware of the size of his thighs between my legs, of the bulging biceps that flexed and rippled every time his arms moved to hold my waist or grab my ass.
