“Ugh, Thanksgiving.”
“You love Thanksgiving.”
He’s right. I do love it. The way I love every single opportunity to celebrate. “But I also love this.” I lean in and kiss the side of his pec, a ridiculous bulge of muscle, tipped with its even more ridiculous tight brown nipple. I say ridiculous, but really I mean wonderful. Beautiful, perfect, divine.
“And I love this too.”
“You do?” I ask, bending to kiss the slightly furred center of his abs and then lower, to where the hair gathers darker andcurlier, right at the base of his absolutely glorious cock. “What about this?” I ask, letting my breath play along his shaft until it’s again at full-mast.
I sayagainbecause we have just literally finished what Grant callsmaking loveand I call a good, hardfucking. Mostly to mess with him.
“I know you love that, you little brat.”
“Do you? How?”
“Because you let me put it deep inside you.”
“Mmmmmm. What else?”
“You let me fuck you with it. Tease you.”
With a sigh, I lick gently up the length and force myself to hover at the tip, tenderly stroking with my mouth. “How else do you know?” I ask, already squirming with the desire to give and take and feel, feel, feel. I am constantly ravenous for this man.
And he knows it.
“I know, sweet girl, because when I do this…” He slides his fingers into my hair, and with a moan, I pull back just enough to show him I like it. “And this.” Grasping himself at the base, he feeds his long, hard cock inside my mouth, holding me in place.
For a few beats, I let the taste and smell of him—of us—overwhelm me. The feel of him, thrumming hard and thick against my tongue, the heft of him so perfect for my body. He pushes deep, and I struggle to open my eyes and meet his, watching him watch me in the perfect feedback loop we always create.
Once he’s firmly rooted inside me and I’m close to tearing up from how good it feels, he says, “You take it like the good little sub you are. Don’t you?”
And I do my best to nod. Because I do love this and want it and also… we’ve only got, like, thirty minutes before people start arriving, and my dad is always early, and—
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…”
“What?” I ask as he pulls back. “I didn’t stop. Why are we stopping?”
“I heard car doors.”
“No! No, dammit! Tell them I am sucking my man’s cock, and I am not to be disturbed. Come here.”
He backs away, taking his absolutely glorious erection—still wet from my mouth—with him and rolls off the bed. “Can’t, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
I pout. Which is a thing I do now. He loves it. I kinda like it too, in a sceneing kind of way. Honestly, outside of playing, I have absolutely no reason to pout. The man is…
“You’re amazing,” I say.
“No, you are.”
“Stop it. Let me compliment you, Grant. Take it gracefully.”
“Fine. Thank you.” He gives my body one last, lingering look. “Now get up and shower. You smell like sex.”
“You smell like sex.”
“Which is why I’m showering.”
“What about Dad?”
