And that issoexciting. Because while I’m having fun, I’m just a tourist. Giving the orders doesn’t get me going nearly as much as taking them. Or, rather, playfully deciding whether or not to follow them.
It’s only fun for me now because he’s not truly submissive—I’m just borrowing the power. Honestly, the real rush I’m getting is from teetering on the edge of his control. If I tease him hard enough, will he flip us over and take what he wants? It’s exhilarating.
“I guess it’s lucky that I’m much more of a bottom than a top,” I assure him.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he groans. “What are you going to do? Tell me.”
“Ah ah,” I chide, rearing up and shaking my head like I’m admonishing him. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be making noise, not asking questions. Now who’s the brat?”
His laugh this time is edged with mania and turns into a whining noise as I let my hair brush against his length. It’s gotten almost impossibly harder with all my teasing. Helovesthis, and the intensity of his desire for me is fuckingeverything. His hips buck, and I press my hand against his lower abdomen, tsking.
“Madison,” he growls, reaching for my hip.
With a grin, I take pity on him, kneeling over him, gripping the base of his cock, and swiping my tongue across the slit at the top. His moan is low, primal. I take the head into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the tip, pressing hard against that spot just under the flare on the back part, where most guys are sensitive.
And he’s one of them. He practically jack-knifes as his thighs lift off the mattress. “Oh fuck! Madison, my love, that feels amazing.”
I close my eyes.My love.I let it wash over me like a warm wave of bliss. I push deeper, drooling all over his cock to ease my way down, reveling in every helpless, desperate noise he makes. I know he’s trying so hard not to grab my head…
His restraint nearly breaks at one point, and I nearly ask him to just do it—to fuck my face like he wants—but I suppose this is better. I’m a gal who enjoys a good face-fucking, but bent over like this is not the best position—that’s how you lose your breakfast.
“Fuck, you’re so good at that. You’re taking me so well…fuck.”
If I had to rank my favorite sex acts I’ve done with other people, giving head wouldn’t be at the top, but there’s something different about having this kind of power over Wesley. Giving him pleasure makes me feelsogood about myself. It doesn’t hurt that he tastes and smells incredible.
So I give him everything I’ve got—I suck and roll my tongue across his shaft; I use a hand when I can’t fit more of him in my mouth without gagging, and I use the other to reach into his pants and cup and play with his balls.
I lose myself in the repetition of bobbing my head, and the feeling of the smooth skin on my tongue. Just as I’m about to pull away for a break, he groans and jerks under me. My mouth fills with the earthy, salty taste of him.
“Swallow it all,” he orders, sounding transfixed as he finally gives in and weaves his fingers into my hair. Brushing it back so he can have a view. “Good girl. That was such a good job. Goddamn, Madison.”
My pussy pulses at the reverence in his voice and soft praise. I sit up, and he follows, placing his warm hand around my throat, like a comfort. I welcome its presence, reaching out to clutch at him. We stare at each other with soft smiles.
“Ready to go?” I ask brightly.
He chuckles and tucks a green forelock behind my ear. “After the blood returns to my brain, sure,” he jokes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my lips.
Once he recovers, we head down to the garage. I give him the address; he types it into his phone’s GPS and lifts a brow at what comes up.
I shrug. “That’s where he’ll be. Two birds with one stone—we can grab lunch!” I enthuse.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had a proper, authentic tamale.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
With a smile, he sets the phone into the holder clamped to the handlebar and kicks the bike into gear.
And then I’m clutching Wesley for my damn life. I really thought motorcycles would be cool and fun, but I’m just cold and terrified. My stomach bottoms out every time he has to lean and shift his momentum to take a turn. And even the powerful rumbling between my legs and Wesley’s soft stroking of my thighs as a comfort whenever we stop at a red light can’t bring me out of it.
It almost works, though.
Wesley rolls to a stop. He dismounts first, glancing around as he helps me off. I can tell he’s assessing his surroundings, and I wonder if he’s ever been to this part of the city.
On the whole, Ulysses is tired and underserved by a local government stacked with corruption. City Hall sits in the northern part of the city, in streets lined with old elms and metered parking. The southern part of the city is where they shove all the ugliest parts they don’t want to think about. But there are a few blocks, right in the middle of it all, that are a bright spot amidst the dereliction and decay. None of the buildings here are crumbling, and the cars on the street have all their tires.
After all, when you’re at the top of a crime-adjacent empire and you employ half the neighborhood, no one would dare graffitiyourbuilding. People don’t care how dirty the money is when it’s poured into the local community; they’ll deny ever having heard your name when the cops come around.
The people who live here are like one big family, and Mama B is a secondabuelato me. She’ll cluck over my outfit and tell me I’m not eating enough beans. Oh, shit… I didn’t brush my teeth after what Wesley and I did…
