He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. His fingers pump in and out while his tongue focuses on my clit, and I'm flying apart. Unraveling. Shattering.
"That's it," he encourages. "Come for me, Nicole. Let me feel you."
My orgasm hits like a tsunami. I scream his name, body convulsing, pussy clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. He doesn't stop. Keeps licking, keeps fingering, drawing out my orgasm until I'm a trembling, sobbing mess.
When I finally come down, he slowly withdraws his fingers and sits back on his heels. His beard is glistening with my arousal. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes locked on mine.
"Incredible," he says. "You taste fucking incredible, sweetheart. So sweet. But that's just the start."
I can barely move. My legs are still shaking. My entire body feels like liquid.
He smirks, clearly proud of himself. "Since you can't move, I guess I'll have to play alone."
"No," I protest weakly.
But he's already standing, unbuckling his belt. The metal clinks. The leather slides free. Then he's unzipping his jeans, and I watch with wide eyes as he pushes them down.
His cock strains against his briefs—thick and long and hard. He palms himself through the fabric.
"You want this?" he asks, voice pure sin.
I want to tell him I need it, crave it, have been dreaming about it for years. But my voice won't work.
"Then come here." He moves to the edge of the bed. "On your hands and knees, sweetheart. Come get what you want."
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
I force my trembling legs to cooperate, getting on all fours. The position makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, desperately needy. I crawl toward him slowly, and his eyes darken with every inch I move.
When I reach him, he cups my face gently. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. On your knees for me. Looking at me like I'm everything you need."
"You are," I whisper. "Everything."
He groans and pushes down his briefs. His cock springs free, thick and long and absolutely perfect. The head is flushed dark, already leaking precum.
I open my mouth without being asked.
"Good girl," he breathes, threading his fingers through my hair. "Take what you want."
I lean forward and wrap my lips around him. He's big. Bigger than I expected and stretching my mouth. But I don't care. I want him. All of him.
I start bobbing my head, taking him deeper with each stroke. My tongue swirls around his head, tasting salt and musk. My hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently.
"Fuck," he groans, hips jerking. "Nicole, your mouth—Jesus Christ—"
I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, and he hits the back of it. I gag slightly but don't pull back. Instead, I look up at him through my lashes. His eyes are wild. Feral. His jaw is clenched tight, muscles jumping. He looks like he's barely holding on.
"Can I—" His voice is strained. "Can I fuck your mouth? Please, sweetheart. Need to—"
I nod as much as I can with his cock in my mouth.
That's all the permission he needs. His hands tighten in my hair and he starts thrusting, setting a rhythm. Not rough, but firm. Controlled. Taking what he needs while making sure I can handle it.
And I can. God, I can.
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard every time he pulls back. Flick my tongue over his head. Let him use my mouth however he wants.
This is real. This is happening. Boone Sullivan is fucking my mouth and groaning my name and looking at me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen.
