He’s still sitting in the accent chair, male pride and arrogance curling his lips into a smirk. It’s then that I realize there’ssomething we haven’t done, that I’ve been looking forward to doing, and there’s no better time than right now.
I lower to my knees in front of him, pressing his thighs open as I unzip his pants.
“Natalie, what are yo–”
Reaching up, I pull his suspenders off his shoulders, and tug on the open waistband of his pants. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask through my fluttering lashes, feigning innocence.
He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to do this. Really.”
Yet, he’s not stopping me, and I don’t want him to. “I know I don’t.”
His dick is throbbing and hot in my hand when I free it from his underwear, whitish liquid pooling at the tip. I’ve had him inside me, but now, it’s close up andperfect. It’s thick and pink and mostly straight, with a vein along the underside and a fat mushroom head that I want to lick like an ice cream cone. It felt amazing inside my pussy, and my mouth waters as I lower my lips to it.
Unable to resist, I press kisses to his inner thighs and the neatly groomed hair above it, teasing him. Building the tension.
He throws his head back against the chair, groaning, “Fuck, Natalie.” His grip tightens on the arms of the chair, knuckles white.
I quickly grow tired of the teasing, mostly because of the way his dick twitches against my lips. I run the flat of my tongue along the underside, tracing the vein. Then, I swirl my tongue around the head before taking him into my mouth, sucking hard.
He lets out a low grunt, guttural, as his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging until my eyes lift to his.
I wrap one hand around the base, the other massaging his large, heavy balls as I continue to lick and suck and take him in as deep as my throat will allow.
“Your fucking mouth, Natalie.” His words are reverent despite the tautness in his jaw. “You’re perfect. Made for me.”
My mouth moves faster, and I suck harder, keeping my stroke steady.
“Fuck! I’m so–” he grits. “I’m clo–”
He explodes on my tongue, his hot seed sliding down my throat. It’s sweet. Sweeter than I expected it to be, and I can’t seem to get enough of it as I lap at the rest still spilling out of his cock.
It takes a minute, but when it hits me, I’m so taken aback, so baffled that I stagger to my feet, forgetting my surroundings and the need to remain quiet when I shout, “Winston, why does your come taste like salted caramel?”
Chapter 21
Winston
Natalie and Lindsay leave shortly after they wake up. They take Natalie’s car to the coffee shop for breakfast, and this is presumably where she will reveal my presence in the house, and our romantic situation. Not that I know what she’ll say, or what label she’ll choose to apply to us. We didn’t discuss it, and I didn’t want to push. This scenario is precarious enough without forcing the relationship talk on Natalie when she’s fighting off an alcohol-fueled headache.
If it were up to me, Natalie would tell Lindsay that we’re madly in love and planning a future together in this house, so kindly fuck off back to Boston.
Last night was life-changing. Natalie’s mouth, so hot and tight around my cock, it ruined me. Not for other women, as there will be no other women for me. She ruined me for other women ages ago. It doesn’t matter how many centuries my soul remains tethered to this plane. She is it. She ruined me for…life, perhaps? Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to think of or do anything else until she wraps her soft lips around my cock again.
I had no answer for her when she revealed the flavor of my come. It’s bizarre, but I can’t say I’m upset. Natalie said it washer favorite flavor of ice cream, and if that’s how my dick tastes, she’ll be more tempted to gobble it on a regular basis, right?
My heart beats erratically when I hear two cars pulling into the driveway. They must’ve stopped by the bar to pick up Lindsay’s car. I hide in the study, knowing I’ll have to be summoned before I reveal myself, and I’d rather not be creepily waiting in the foyer when I make myself visible.
“Winston,” Natalie calls out. I hear her hang up her purse on the hook by the door, and suppress a groan of annoyance when I hear the plop and the jangle of a purse and keys being tossed on the floor. Lindsay's, no doubt. “Can you come down here for a minute, babe?”
I take a breath, stroll out of the study, and down the stairs. “Hello, Natalie. Ah, Lindsay, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hold out my hand, offering my most winning and least sarcastic-looking smile.
She glares at me, then down at my hand. Eventually, she shakes it, touching me with as few fingers as she can get away with. “Hi.”
No smile. No pleasantries.
I try to see it from her side, and I suppose I would be wary of me too.
Remain friendly. Don’t be yourself.
