I know not every woman enjoys giving head, but I fucking love it. I love having control over my man’s pleasure, being in sole charge of bringing him to dizzying heights, and I love watching him come apart in my mouth.
“Fuck, Presley. That feels so damn good,” he moans, thrusting his hips forward, in sync with me. With my free hand, I fondle his balls, alternating my attention between them as I suck him faster and deeper. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and my jaw aches because Kent is big, and his long length is hitting the back of my throat even though I don’t have all of him inside.
“Gonna come, baby,” he warns, and I suction my lips tighter around him, signaling I want him to let go in my mouth. He roars out his release a minute later, spilling jets of hot, salty cum down my throat.
“Fucking hell, babe.” He lifts me by the upper arms up over his body, slamming his mouth down on mine. “I don’t want to know howyougot so good at that,” he murmurs when we eventually stop kissing.
“I enjoy giving head,” I admit, shrugging while I press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I like blowingyou.”
“I could tell, and it’s so freaking hot.” He nuzzles his chin in my hair.
I rest my head on his chest as his arm encircles my waist, keeping me pressed in close to his naked body. I swirl my finger through the intricate ink winding along his collarbone. “Does this phoenix mean something?” I ask, examining the stunning design. The wings extend down his arms and join the flames flickering across his upper back. My gaze trails the length of his arms, noting the snakes and daggers and embedded lines of poetry.
Kent remains silent, his lips pressing together, and that gesture tells me every item inked on his skin represents something personal to him.
Something he’s not willing to divulge yet.
I drop the subject because I will never force him to admit any of his truths. They should come freely because he trusts me and wants to share another piece of himself with me.
“I’m going to have my own tattoo shop one day,” I explain, resting my chin on his chest as I stare into his eyes.
“Yeah?” Interest flares behind his retinas.
I tell him about my plan. How I nearly have enough money saved so I can afford the apprenticeship and the courses.
“Is that what the art class is about?” he asks after I’ve spilled my guts.
I nod. “Primarily, but I also love drawing. Even if I didn’t aspire to be a tattoo artist, I would be doing something creative. It’s more than just a job or a passion. It’s a way of life for me.”
“I’ll have my very own personal tattoo artist.” He tweaks my nose, grinning at me. My heart rate kicks up at his words and the suggested longevity behind them. “That will be cool.”
“I’d love to ink you,” I admit.
“Then you shall,” he adds, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We should get up. I know Keanu wants to have breakfast with us before they head home. He told me he met you in the kitchen last night.”
I nod. “He’s a nice guy. I couldn’t get over how much you look alike.” Reluctantly, I extract myself from Kent’s warm embrace, swinging my legs out the side of the bed and standing.
Kent climbs out his side, his gaze darkening as he takes in my naked body. “Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Presley baby.” He licks his lips. “I think you should sleep in my bed every night.”
I bark out a laugh, padding around the bed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” My nose scrunches up as I stare at the wrinkled sheets. “I can only imagine how many women have been in that bed.” A shiver works its way through me.
“That seriously bothers you?” He scrubs a hand over his jaw as his brows knit together.
“I know you have a past, Kent, and I’m sure it’s one we’ll frequently run into. I can deal with that, but sleeping in the same bed where you’ve had orgies and shit…” I make a disgusted face. “Not appealing.”
“I’ll buy a new one.”
“I don’t expect you to do that. Maybe you could stay at my place sometime?”
Now it’s his turn to make a disgusted face. “And sleep in the same bed where you’ve fucked other guys?” He tweaks my nose. “Double standards, baby.”
“I’ve had two guys in my bed. How many women have been in yours?” I arch a brow, instantly clamping a hand over his mouth when his lips move to speak. “I don’t actually want you to answer that. I really don’t need to know.” I’m not a naturally jealous person, but even I have my limits.
“I know about Chris, but who was the other guy?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you after breakfast. We shouldn’t keep Selena and Keanu waiting.”
I throw on my ripped skinny jeans and my top from last night, sliding Kent’s white shirt on over it because my corset top is not breakfast appropriate, and then I follow Kent downstairs. He’s in low-hanging gray sweatpants and a sleeveless white training top that highlights his bulging biceps and the glorious ink on his arms.
