“Doe. I’m not asking twice.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Fine. How do you want me?”
A foolish question that earns a grin.
Antonio eyes my flannel shirt and black leggings. “Take off your pants so you don’t slide off.”
“For safety?” I deadpan.
He nods with his lip between his teeth.
“If someone walks in here and sees me with my ass out, I’m choking you with the bar.”
“So violent!” He licks his lips and sniffs the air when he sees my black panties. “Yeah. I smell you. Climb up. Spread your legs, and hold on to the rack.”
“This is a bad idea,” I grumble, but I follow directions.
The cold metal prickles my bare skin. I shift my weight and grip the rack for balance. My thighs spread like peanut butter, inviting heat from the air to press into the seat of the thin fabric soaked in my desire.
“You know I got you, right?” Antonio asks, his voice husky. “I always will.”
“I know,” I whisper down to his stare. “Thank you for the distraction.”
All thirty-two of his teeth show. “Thank you for the snack.” I moan at the first swipe of his tongue over my seam when he lowers the bar.
“Spread for me,” he mumbles from between my legs. “Yeah, she’s ready for me. Hold on, baby.”
Antonio pushes up and lowers me to his chest without effort. The flex of his muscles and the sensation of the slow glide of his tongue over my underwear hardens my nipples. He’s laser focused, his gaze locked and mouth latched.
We get to twelve reps before he racks the bar, and his lips are on me again. This time, he pulls my panties to the side to pull my clit into his mouth.
“Make a mess for me, Dr. Beckford.”
Shit, say less.
The angle of his head and the power of his jaw crack my toes. My breath skips, and my thighs tremble. I curl into the fast strokes of his tongue and whimper.
“I don’t like you wound up like you gotta carry this shit by yourself. Let it out.”
A moan rattles his throat. I grip the barbell and cry out to the ceiling when he sucks harder. The release is sharp, demanding every ounce of air in my lungs. He holds me in place as I rock into him and slows his pace to lazy licks. My shoulders slump, and for the first time since Marcela called, I feel calm. Balanced.
Sex won’t change my circumstances—or Antonio’s hardheaded efforts—but his love and affection soothe the wounds. It also doesn’t hurt that his tongue has magic. I can fly home as high as I am.
He helps me off the barbell and sweeps me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist as he guides us to a flat bench.
There are no words. Only a slow kiss that starts at my mouth and slides down the valley of my breasts with every button he undoes. He pushes my shirt open to palm my breasts, then frees them from the front clasp on my bra. My clit pulses at the drag of his fingers that dip between my legs. His tongue runs laps around my nipples as he cups me with his hand. The force strangles my breath and restarts my engine. Thick fingers spread inside me, and I ride the wave of another orgasm using his palm as a surfboard.
“I need you,” I pant, reaching for Antonio’s mouth to bring to mine.
“You always have me.” He steps back and hooks his thumbs in his basketball shorts. His dick bobs free at a tug, hard and glistening with pre-cum. I wrap my hands around his length and guide him into my mouth. My tongue outlines his tip, salty from his sweat, as I breathe through my nose to take him deeper.
“Shit, Doe.” The muscles in his quads flex through the slow pump of his hips. He cups my face and pushes in deeper.
Taking him to the back of my throat is still a work in progress. What I can fit in my mouth, I slurp and jerk with a hand, hollowing my cheeks while caressing his balls. My face burn from the stretch, my mouth wetter with the saliva running downmy lips he swipes with a finger. He jerks at the flick of my tongue on the underside of his head.
“You look good with me in your mouth. Fuck,” he hisses. His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap shut. He staggers back to catch his breath. “Shit. Should I send your mama a fruit basket?”
“Shut up!” I snort at him holding his dick in awe.
