His BBC as a present 2

Chapter 2

June's POV

His eyes widened with genuine shock for half a second before the pupils blew dark and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin and losing.

“June,” he hissed again, fingers digging into my waist hard enough to bruise. “Even if I said that can't you see we are in a bus full of people—your teammates? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I didn’t mind him.

I rolled my hips once, grinding down on the thick length straining against his track pants which made his jaw lock so tight I heard his teeth click.

“Maybe,” I whispered back, my lips now grazing the stubble under his ear, feeling the warmth of his dark skin against my mouth.. “But you said whatever I want. And this is it.”

His hands flexed on my hips but they weren't still pushing me away. If anything, they pulled me tighter, his wide thumbs brushing bare skin where my hoodie had ridden up to dangerous territory, the stark contrast of his dark fingers against my lighter thighs making my pulse spike harder.

“You’re playing with fire, girl,” he muttered, his voice gravel-rough. But his hips lifted just enough to meet my next slow roll, chasing the pressure. “They can hear us. Hell, anyone can see if they turns around.”

“Then be quiet,” I breathed, sliding one hand up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading into the short, tight curls there. “And let me collect my prize.”

I rocked forward again, letting the soft fleece of the hoodie drag against his chest while my bare core pressed hot and slick against the hard ridge of him through two layers of fabric. No panties. No bra. Just me, still damp from the pool and now from something else entirely, soaking the inside of his pants where we touched.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. His breathing turned ragged.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, barely a sound. One big, dark hand slid up under the hoodie, rough palm skating over the curve of my ribs, then higher—cupping the weight of my breast, thumb brushing over the peaked nipple that was still sensitive from the cold and adrenaline.

"Mmm-" I bit my lip immediately shutting the moan that was clawing up my throat. My hips stuttered.

He pinched once — sharp, mean — and my whole body jolted.

“Careful,” he warned, voice dropping to that low, commanding register he used during dry-land sets when he wanted perfect form. “You start making noise and this ends fast. For both of us.”

I leaned in until our foreheads touched, our noses brushing. “Then help me stay quiet.”

His other hand left my hip, slid between us. Dark fingers found the hem of the hoodie, pushed it higher, then slipped between my thighs.

The first brush of his calloused fingertips against my slick folds made my thighs tremble.

He snapped his eyes shut as he felt how wet I already was, how ready, and then let out the quietest, filthiest groan I’d ever heard from him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, June!”

Two thick fingers slid inside me without warning, curling immediately, pressing against that spot that made my vision white out. 

I clamped a hand over my own mouth just in time to muffle the whimper. He worked me in deliberate, punishing strokes while his thumb circled my clit in lazy, maddening pressure.

Every time the bus hit a bump, his fingers sank deeper, his thumb pressed harder. I rocked shamelessly against his hand, grinding down on his cock at the same time, the dual sensation lighting me up from the inside.

His mouth found my throat, teeth grazing the pulse point, then sucking hard enough I knew there’d be a red mark blooming on my pale skin tomorrow.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he murmured against my skin, so quiet it was almost just breath. “Right here. On my fingers. While the whole team sits ten feet away thinking we’re just debriefing your race.”

The thought alone sent a fresh gush of wetness over his hand. He cursed under his breath.

“Quiet,” he reminded me, even as his fingers sped up, thumb flicking my clit faster than ever.

I was shaking now— thighs quivering, breath coming in shallow, desperate pants against his neck. My nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt.

“Coach...” I whimpered, so soft it barely counted as sound.

"That’s it,” he rasped. “Give it to me. Right fucking now.”

He crooked his fingers one last time, thumb pressing down hard and I shattered.

The orgasm hit like a wall of water, silent but violent. My whole body locked with my mouth flying open on a soundless cry as I pulsed around his fingers, soaking his hand, his pants, the seat beneath us. 

He kept moving through it, drawing it out until my hips jerked with overstimulation and I had to bite his shoulder to keep from crying out.

When the aftershocks finally eased, he slowly withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while staring straight into my eyes.

My face flamed. My core clenched again at nothing.

He tugged my hoodie down just enough to cover me decently, then leaned back against the seat, looking far too composed for a man who had just finger-fucked his star swimmer on a moving team bus.

“Happy now?” he asked, voice low and amused.

I almost snickered. How could I be when I hadn’t even seen or touched the real thing yet—let alone actualized the full fantasy of that enormous Black cock stretching me wideopen?

I swallowed softly though my legs were trembling. “Not even close.”