“Fuck, baby. You have no idea how hot that is,” he mutters.
I smile wickedly. “Actually, I do. That’s why I did it.”
His fingers rope through my hair. “Do it again then.” Like a cat marking a person, I rub my face along his cock, like I’m sayinghe’s mine.
Mine. It’s a strange thought, but it feels strangely true.
I tease him some more, then brush my lips slightly against the head. I flick out my tongue. He groans. I squeeze the base with my palm. He shudders.
I press the gentlest kiss to the tip.
He snaps, saying on a rough groan, “Suck it, baby. Suck it now.”
“What a good idea,” I say, then draw him past my lips.
His breath is ragged. The staggered sound of his moans sends sparks of pleasure through my body, settling between my thighs as I fill my mouth, enjoying the view of him in his post-game suit—the slacks undone, the shirtuntucked, the briefs half down, the jacket gone. Somehow, the messiness of his attire makes me hotter. I suck deeper. Harder. Take him all the way in while curling my fist around the base.
He sucks a breath of air through his teeth. Cups my head harder this time. Rocks into my mouth.
Want pools in my belly. I wriggle around, like I can find some sort of relief from this ache between my thighs.
But then I concentrate fully on him, murmuring against his cock, scraping my nails along the coarse hair of his thighs. His muscles are like steel, and this isn’t the first time I’ve felt his legs, of course. But to feel them now while his dick’s pulsing in my mouth, thrusting into my throat, gives me a particular thrill.
All day, this man is so strong, so stoic, so steady.
Yet when we’re alone, he seems as lost to the pleasure as I am.
That thought spurs me on. I grab his firm ass, then take him deeper.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts.
He fists my hair with one hand, his other hand moving down my face, his fingertips dragging along my cheek. I swirl my tongue around the head then relax my throat, letting him drive deeper.
With a throaty moan, he fucks my mouth, his gaze locked on my face as he pumps. My lips stretch around his length, and I will myself to open wider. It’s not easy. He’s a little rough, a lot big. My tonsils are getting knocked around, and I’m not sure how long my throat can handle this.
But I’m also growing wetter from every thrust, every grunt, every tight grip of his fingers in my hair. Most of all, from his eyes lasered on me. His attention is a match, andit lights a fire of lust inside me. I’m rocking my hips now too, moaning as I lick and suck.
“Look at you,” he grits out. “With your pretty lips wrapped around my dick. Just look at you. So fucking turned on from sucking me off.”
My brain pops. No one has ever spoken to me like this. I’m used to being the chatty one, to talking too much, to speaking my mind. But here he is, reading me right. Seeing through me.KnowingI love touching him and turning him on too.
And saying it.
That’s freeing as well—the fearless way he names what’s happening between us in the bedroom.
I feel fearless with him, so I let my right hand fall from his ass, and I shove my fingers inside my panties.
Yes…
I’ve been aching for contact, and in seconds I’m riding my hand while I suck him.
“Ah, hell, Skylar. You can’t keep that sweetness to yourself. Gimme,” he demands. “Gimme some of that right now.”
Arousal gathers hotter and faster as I fuck my fingers, then remove them, lifting that hand. Offering it to him.
He pulls his dick from my mouth. I whimper from the loss of contact, but not for long. He kneels so we’re eye to eye as he sucks my slick fingers, licking my desire off each one, his eyes rolling back in his head. When he lets go, our gazes hold each other, flickering with so much need, so much urgency.
There’s passion in his irises but also pure vulnerability. “You’re doing something to me,” he murmurs. “You’re just doing something to me.”
