My orgasm surprises me as I feel the rush of my release. I tense my legs, cinching them around Jon’s head and he mumbles something into my pussy, and I worry that he can’t breathe. Is this dude trying to suffocate himself between my legs?
I tug his head up because I just need to see his face, and make sure he’s not drowning.
He smiles up at me, licking my juices off his lips. Fuck, he’s a sexy mess.
“Permission to continue, Beautiful? You’re not begging for mercy yet, are you?” he teases, giving my clit another quick flick with the tip of his tongue.
“Ohh! Mmmm…Hate to break it to you, Doc. But you may be down there a while. I’m not tapping out,” my voice breathy and full of need.
“Good thing I’m a thirsty boy. I could drink you up all night.”
Before I can give a witty remark, he’s back to working my clit with his skilled tongue and soft lips. To conserve energy, I let my arms relax, and lay flat on the floor, which gives him the chance to lift my hips up more.
I feel his fingers approaching my slit and I’m so desperate for him.
“Yes! Put your fingers inside me, Doc,” I tell him, bucking my hips in excitement.
“Let me see you play with those pierced nipples, Beautiful,” he pants against my lower lips, slowly screwing one finger into my pussy.
I remove my hands from his hair, satisfied with how messy I’ve made it, and take my nipples between my fingers, giving them a rough tug. The combination of his finger slowly massaging my G-spot, his mouth working my clit, and the rough nipple play has me falling over the edge into a second orgasm.
“Motherfuuuuck!!!” I feel myself squirt on to his hand and he hums in appreciation, locking his lips around my clit again to help me ride out the wave of satisfaction he’s giving me.
“You are so fucking stunning.”
I’m not sure how many orgasms Jon gave me. My pussy is beyond sensitive, and my nipples are a little raw from how much I was playing with them. Jon’s hair is all over the place, his face is glistening, and his lips are swollen. I’m pretty sure his tongue is numb, because he’s stopped talking– only humming, groaning, or growling.
The muscles in my legs are more fatigued than after a difficult training session. He’s completely worn me out. We’re both splayed across the floor of my hotel room. His head is on my thigh, and I can feel him tracing the lines of my tattoo going down my leg. It’s soothing and almost lulling me to sleep. Is he staying here tonight? Do we go to bed together after everything that just happened between us?
We’re not together. He’s still with his girlfriend. He said he’s breaking up with her, but he could just be saying that. We were both so caught up in the moment. I’m leaving town after tomorrow. What are the chances we actually see each other again?
Maybe tonight can just be an amazing night between two people who have no business being together. I mean, I’m a professional female wrestler, who is the epitome of bad decisions. Jon’s a doctor—a pediatrician—who saves little kids from terminal illnesses and is the posterchild for domesticated bliss. We couldn’t be more opposite. Then why are we so good together?
“Why poison ivy?” Jon whispers, pulling my attention back to his fingers tracing the tattoo on my leg.
I smile, remembering each session for that tattoo.
“I’d like to hear your theory first,” I say, stretching my arms overhead, so comfortable at this moment.
“I haven’t seen many women with tattoos. And none with tattoos like yours.”
He pauses, and I glance down to see him exploring my ink, maybe choosing his words wisely.
I’ve heard every criticism about my tattoos from my mom. She’s convinced I’ve ruined my body and destroyed any chance of a man wanting to be with me.Well, maybe that’s always been the point.As much as I don’t care what other people think about me, or my body art, I feel an anxious knot forming in my chest. What if Jon thinks they’re stupid? What if he wishes they were more feminine, or pretty?
“I’ve seen women who have a lot of flower tattoos. They’re pretty.” Here we go. He doesn’t like them. I tense my leg, ready to pull it away from his grip. “Poison ivy gives the impression that you don’t want people to touch you. Or that they’re going to experience harm if they do touch you.”
He’s not wrong. He’s pretty fucking accurate.
“I think there’s more to you, though,” he continues. “I think you see beauty in the non-traditional. I think you see yourself as non-traditional and are proud to have it painted all over your body. I like that you’re not scared to be yourself.”
Fuck. Does the good doctor get me? I relax my leg. In fact, my entire body relaxes.
“You’re pretty smart, Doc.”
“I try.” He smiles up at me, giving me a wink. “Soooo….Did I do a good enough job to get you to come back here for another visit?” he asks, looking like such an adorable dork, waiting to hear if he passed a test.
I bite my lip, wanting to say yes. I mean this guy is probably thebest lay I’ve had in a long time, and we haven’t even fucked. He’s nice, caring and responsible. What’s not to like about him?
