I swallow hard, because I recognize the look in his eyes. I know what it will lead to. And because I'm a greedy girl, a big part of me wants to cave. Let Titus follow through with whatever way he's planning to touch me.
But darn it, I want to touch him. Especially after what he just said.
I rub my lips together, trying to find the bravery to ask a question I'm eager to know the answer to. After pulling in a quick breath, I force it out. "What do I have to do for the right to touch you?"
The intensity always present in Titus’s gaze flares to a heat I can almost feel. "You don't have to do anything for the right to touch me, Mariah. You have free reign to put your hands on me anytime, anywhere."
That would have been nice to know days ago, but I still need some additional clarification just to be sure I understand correctly. "What about my mouth? Can I put that on you whenever I want?"
I swear I can feel Titus squirming in his seat, and it makes me want to smile. Makes me feel powerful. Makes me feel like I have at least a little control in this. It might just be when it comes to things of a more sexual nature, but I'll take it.
After all I've learned about Titus, I'm starting to have some suspicions, and one of them is that I’m much more experiencedwhen it comes to sex. If Kara was his high school girlfriend, and he's been locked away since she died, that means not only is it likely she's the only person he's been with, but also that he is on the tail end of one hell of a dry spell.
Which kind of explains how he ended up making a mess of the sheets I’d just laundered. And that really makes me want to see how he would react to me making him feel good on purpose.
Titus clears his throat, still shifting in his seat, but there's no way he can hide how interested he is in my last question. After clearing his throat yet again, he says, "Like I said, you can touch me anytime, anywhere." He reaches up, catching my chin between his thumb and pointer, holding my face steady. "But you don't ever owe me anything, Mariah. Nothing. Understand?"
It's kind of cute that he thinks I feel obligated to suck his dick because he's gone down on me twice. But obligation has nothing to do with my interest in this particular act. It's actually weirdly selfish. I want him to know I can make him feel good.Iwant to know I can make him feel good. I want to witness his eyes rolling back. Hear the sounds he makes. I want to know if his fingers will grip my hair or if he'll squeeze the arms of his chair. If he'll love it so much he accidentally pushes deeper into my mouth. I want to know how he tastes.
I want to knoweverything.
"I understand, Mr. Bradshaw." I'm grinning as I say it, because I know exactly how that's going to land.
"Very funny." He leans in, lips meeting mine. His kiss isn't cautious or shy. It's comfortable. Familiar.
So is the way he grips my waist, like he thinks he's going to distract me and make me forget that I would like a turn at pleasing him.
I barely pull my mouth from his, our lips still brushing as I say, "Are you trying to be sneaky?"
"Never." His mouth trails along my jaw to the spot just below my ear. He nips at the skin, making my toes curl. "I'm trying to earn my rights."
My smile holds as I kiss him again, using a hold on his hair to bring his mouth to mine. I suck his lower lip, pulling it just a little before letting it slip free. And I swear I can feel his dick jerk beneath my ass.
Oh yeah. Touching Titus Bradshaw is going to be so much fun.
"I think you're going to have to wait, because I distinctly remember being told I could touch you anywhere I wanted anytime I wanted." I shift around, carefully working my way off his lap. "So you're just going to have to sit there and suffer through." I slide off his knees onto mine, extra grateful I picked a plush carpet for this room.
Was I possibly thinking about a scenario like this when I chose it? Maybe, but I'm going to blame that on all the hormones racing through my veins.
When I look up, I find Titus watching me, engrossed, as I reach for the belt of his jeans. I work it open before flipping the button free and dragging down the zipper, spreading the well-worn fabric as wide as I can so I can reach as much of him as possible.
The head of his cock is fighting the waistband of his boxer briefs, like it’s as eager for my attention as I am to give it. Hooking my fingers beneath the elastic, I carefully lift it up and out so I don't drag the fabric over any part of him. Since I made plenty of room to work, I also created plenty of room for his dick, the full scope of it able to spring free.
I suck in a breath. That is a lot of square footage. Yes, I've felt it rub up against me more than a few times, but it can be difficult to estimate what's going on with clothes in the way. Even then, I doubt I could have imagined a dick like this all on my own, which is saying something considering I’m the imagining queen.
I've never been of the opinion that the male genitalia is particularly attractive, but Titus’s cock is downright pretty. Perfectly proportioned and girthy without being scary. Smooth skin, prominent veins...
And a slight curve that makes my thighs clench. Because I can imagine the spot it will hit.
My mouth waters at the sight of him, and that almost makes me laugh because of how ridiculous it is. Just as ridiculous as the perfection of his penis.
Lifting my eyes to Titus's face because I want to see his expression, I lean in, and lick him from root to tip. The movement proves my assumptions correct. His head falls back and his eyes drop closed as he lets out the sexiest groan imaginable. But almost immediately, he straightens and brings his gaze back to me. Like he doesn't want to miss a thing either.
And if he wants a show, I’m more than happy to give it to him.
Keeping my eyes on his face, I wrap my lips around the width of his crown, flicking my tongue against his already leaking slit before sinking over him as far as I can go. It's not as far as I'd like, but after pulling back, I'm able to go lower on my second go thanks to the saliva slicking his skin.
When he bumps the back of my throat, I get my answer about what Titus will grip—the chair, or my hair. The answer is both.
