“Your words, Royce.”
“Okay.”
I took his dick into my mouth again. I’d missed it much more than I cared to explain. My right hand joined my efforts to disarm the missile at our disposal.
“Urgggh-”
My gag reflex didn’t halt my movement. Vomit would have to wait. There was no room for it in my mouth. Not with Ishmael filling it to capacity.
I used my left hand to grab his wrist, guiding his hand back to my head. His guidance wasn’t needed, but I craved it like I did my next breath.
“Uhhhhh.”
My center was aching with need. Ishmael’s semen in my mouth was crucial to my peak. I pushed the fabric of my dress upward and shoved my hand inside my panties. I inserted two fingers inside of me.
“Mmmmm.”
“Fuck, my baby.”
Ishmael’s ending was upon us. I worked my fingers while assaulting my throat with his weapon.
“Mmmmm.”
“This motherfucker ’bout to bus’ baby. Shit.”
His grip on my head tightened. His body stilled. His stomach caved. His breathing changed, nearly stopping completely.
Stars aligned behind Ishmael’s head. My eyes were still on him. Provoking him. Expressing my imminent rapture. I neededhim cumming. I needed his semen on my tongue. My lips. My face. Wherever it landed. And, if it happened to be on him, I was prepared to clean the mess I’d made with the tip of every tastebud in my mouth.
“My ba– Urgh. Fuck.”
His unearthing was the foundation for mine. My center tingled with numbness as I exploded onto my fingers.
“Uhhhhh!”
Warm semen squirted into my mouth. Hurriedly, I slid backward, allowing the rest to coat my lips and fall onto my chest. Watching Ishmael erupt in high definition rearranged my brain matter.
“Oh God,” I moaned, pulling him back into my mouth.
His body pressed into the seat. His grip tightened.
“My baby–please.”
Only because he’d asked nicely did I release him. My gloss coated his shaft. I rested my lips against it, still looking up into Ishmael’s anguished eyes. Whatever dilemma he was facing was written all over his face.
I straightened my spine, allowing his dick to fall between his thighs. My right index finger pushed his remnants of him from the sides of my mouth and my lips. I shoved the finger in my mouth, sure to clean it thoroughly.
I swiped his semen from my chest and placed it at the tip of my tongue. It vanished in my warmth as I closed my mouth. My smile didn’t reach my eyes. They were preoccupied with the greed I suffered at the hands of Ishmael.
“We have arrived, Royce,” Ishmael cleared his throat.
Disappointment tiptoed around his statement. He didn’t want to attend the dinner. He was fragile. Vulnerable. Open. Exposed.
“We have.”
I pulled his pants and boxers toward his waist. A pat on the leg got his body lifted long enough for me to secure them both. As he watched, I zipped his pants and then rebuttoned them. I pulled his belt through the buckle and tightened it.
The Chanel clutch opened with ease. I removed the small pack of wipes and used one to clean my fingers. I, then, used another to swipe the slime from my vulva. In disbelief, Ishmael held me under his watchful eye. I discarded both cloths in the small trash can on the back of the seat.
