A sharp cry rips from my throat as he thrusts deep, stretching me open with practiced precision. My back arches, hips rolling instinctively, desperate for more. My pussy clenches around his fingers, a relentless pulse of need that he seems to read like a fucking roadmap. I move against him, grinding down on his hand, then onto his tongue, chasing the overwhelming heat flooding my body.
Every flick, every stroke, sends me spiraling higher until my skin is fevered, my limbs shaky, my mind lost to the relentless rhythm he’s setting.
It crashes over me too fast. A strangled moan escapes as I come hard, pleasure tearing through me in sharp, dizzying waves. My thighs tighten around his head, my entire bodyshuddering as he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from me until I collapse against the table, completely limp.
He looks up at me, his eyes dark and hungry, his face slick with my release. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I let my legs slide down from his shoulders, breathless and wrecked, staring at him in disbelief.How the hell did he just do that to me so fast?
"Delicious," he murmurs, licking his lips like he just had his favorite meal. Then he stands, his fingers moving to the button of his wine-stained jeans, undoing them with unhurried confidence. "Now get on your knees," he orders, pulling out the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen.
My pulse pounds as I slide off the table, placing my hands against his smooth, tattooed chest. I press against him, guiding him back, step by step, until his legs hit the edge of the small couch. He steps out of his jeans, and I press harder, urging him down until he drops onto the seat.
As soon as my fingers wrap around his thick, pulsing length, my knees hit the floor. Now it’s my turn to make him lose control.
I want to ruin him.
I stroke him from base to tip, feeling the heat of him in my palm. His cock is smooth as silk, long and hard, pulsing with need. My breath catches as I watch my hand glide over him, up and down, slow and teasing.
A warm bead of pre-cum gathers at his tip, and I swipe my thumb through it, smearing it along his shaft. I’m mesmerized by how it glistens in the low light. A sound escapes him—not quite a moan, but a deep, satisfied sigh.
My mouth waters.
"I want to come on this cock tonight," I murmur, my strokes never stopping.
His eyes darken, heat flickering in those hazel depths. "Oh, I promise you will. More than once." Fingers slide into my curls, soft for a moment before twisting tight, gripping hard enough to make my scalp tingle. "But right now," he rasps, "I want to see you take all of me in that filthy mouth of yours."
A shiver rolls through me.
I shift closer, sinking lower, letting my hands explore him.
His grip tightens in my hair as he spreads his legs wider, offering himself completely.
I drag my tongue around the tip of his cock, savoring the salt of his skin. One hand stays wrapped firmly around his shaft while the other cups his balls, massaging them with slow, firm pressure.
His whole body reacts. His thighs tense beneath my palms. His stomach flexes. His grip in my hair wavers, like he's fighting every primal urge not to fuck my mouth without restraint. A low, vibrating growl rumbles from his chest.
I flick my gaze up through my lashes, meeting his heavy stare.
He looks wrecked already, barely holding himself together.
Good.
I give him exactly what he needs. I take him deep, swallowing him down until my throat tightens, gagging around his thick length.
"Fuuuuck, that’s it, Angel. That’s it. You know what I need," he gasps, his voice raw and wrecked.
I slide up, my lips gliding over every inch of him before sinking back down. Again and again. Slow, wet, long strokes, feeling every twitch, every pulse against my tongue.
He tastes sinfully good. He smells even better—clean, masculine, and faintly spiced. I make a mental note to ask what soap he uses and sell it to every future lover I ever have.
I leverage myself higher and choke on his cock again until my eyes water.
"Jesus, fucking—" he growls, his control slipping. His hips rock forward, testing, seeking more.
Once.
Twice.
