“What’s yours? You go first.” She lowered herself down, nipping my pecs, then down to my stomach.
“Ryan.” I was too turned on now to focus on guessing games, and I wanted her to know what I was called. I wanted her to know something more of me.
“I like that name.” She looked up, her face just above my cock, then pressed a kiss to it. “It’s straightforward.”
“Is your name not?” I groaned as she licked the tip through my boxer briefs, now stretched to accommodate my swelling dick. “I don’t think you could have a straightforward name.”
“It’s Otter.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Otter. It’s a shortened form.”
I’d have asked what for, but she was in the process of getting rid of my underwear while taking the tip of my cock in her mouth, so words weren’t going to be something I could use for the next few minutes. It wasn’t difficult to short circuit a man’s brain when you had your lips wrapped around his favourite part of his anatomy.
The upcoming match, the text messages, the fact that I’d never seen her outside of a hotel, all disintegrated as she worked my dick with her hand and her mouth, making everything else around merge into blurs of colours.
When everything tightened and tensed, I managed to utter a warning, not wanting to fill her mouth unless… she didn’t mind. I came hard and fierce, my eyes unable to stop watching her take my load. When she delicately wiped her mouth with a finger afterwards, I nearly came again.
I lay back on the bed, shirt still on my arms, trousers and underwear screwed up around my legs. Otter watched me, smiling. She was kneeling up, hands resting on my thighs, a look of smug satisfaction on her more than pretty face.
“You look like you just won an award.” My words were slightly slurred. I was definitely orgasm drunk.
She nodded. “Why are blow jobs so amazing for men?”
I laughed, which again, sounded slurred, if a laugh can sound that way. “Because they are. Don’t you enjoy oral?”
She shook her head. “Never had a decent orgasm that way.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “I’d rather have a good fuck. You know, the sort of fuck that gets you sweaty and leaves you feeling like you’ve been worked-out.”
I’d learned when we were together that she didn’t get off on the tender sort of sex my ex had preferred. She liked deeper pressure and firm touches, the sort of woman who asked for her massages to be hard and didn’t flinch.
“Let me make you come with my mouth first. Then I’ll fuck you like you want.” Because by that time I’d be locked and fully loaded.
She shrugged. “You want to prove a point that you can do what no man’s done before?”
“Yes.” No point lying. “I want to show that I’m better than what you’ve had before.”
Her laugh was more of a giggle. “Fine. Have at it.”
My hands were already whispering over her skin, touching her curves in a way that was making her nipples harden and her body shiver. “You don’t know what it’s like to be touched carefully, do you?”
“I don’t need to be touched carefully. I’m not made of porcelain.”
I flipped her onto her back and took a nipple in my mouth, circling it with my tongue, applying delicate pressure. Her back lifted, her fingers weaving into my hair, pulling gently on it, then harder.
I teased my way around her body, not staying in any one place long enough to bring her any relief, making her moan and curse and make vague threats about what she was going to do to me later. I savoured it all, working my way to the apex of her legs and the nectar that I knew was there, pressing a kiss just above where she wanted pressure.
Everyone has a tipping point. On the pitch, mine was hard to find. I wasn’t there to defend our goal, I didn’t go in for the dangerous tackles to prevent conceding a goal, and I didn’t torment the other players. I watched for the ball coming upfield, fooled defenders into guessing wrongly which way I was going and took my chances to score. I’d never had a red card, never picked more than a couple of bookings in a season, because my buttons weren’t easily pressed.
But Otter only had to say one word to tip me over now.
My name.
Ryan.
