He finally relents, slowing down and kissing every stretch mark he finds in his wake.
I exhale, spent and out of breath, as he smiles against my thigh. “You taste perfect. God, I’m going to dream about those sounds forever.”
I look down to find him sliding his glasses back on. “What are you doing?” I ask, and he smiles wickedly.
He kisses my hip, my soft belly, my belly button, and up my scar until his lips are on mine and he lets me taste myself. “I don’t want to miss a thing, so the glasses stay on,” he whispers.
I bite my lower lip, red washing over my face, but I muster the courage I don’t usually have and say, “It’s not very fair I have no clothes on other than these heels, and you’re fully dressed.”
He swallows hard, his eyes darkening to a shade of brown I’ve never seen before. He likes me, I know he does, but this? These lust-filled eyes on me will be my undoing.
“Then do something about it,” he murmurs, his voice confident and full of desire and need, like if I don’t put my hands on him right now, he might stop breathing. It gives me the confidence I need not to shrink down into myself and keep my chin high as I drag my hands up his strong thighs and pull his shirt out of his slacks.
I take my time, carefully unbuttoning his shirt, evening my breath with each button. Unlike him, who hisses or gasps every time I get closer to the waistband of his pants. I don’t rush it. This feeling is intoxicating, knowing that a touch ofmyhands can have this effect on him.
I slide my hands under his shirt, my fingertips trailing his muscled abdomen and his hard chest as he groans.
“A girl could get used to those sounds,” I tease, pushing the shirt off the breadth of his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground where he discarded my clothes.
“A guy could get used to being touched like this, so it sounds like the perfect match.” I search his eyes for the lie, but I can’t find it.
I unbuckle his belt, freeing it from his pants, and slowly drag both the pants and his underwear down his strong thighs. How had I never noticed how wide his legs were? But my leg admiration is immediately interrupted by his hard dick in front of me.
Wow, I think, but I don’t say it. Also, crap, that’s huge, but that’s a problem for future Natalie. Because Natalie right now wants nothing more than to slide her tongue over every inch of skin on display.
“Natalie,” he whispers, as if he can read my thoughts, and maybe he can, because as I’m sitting on my knees, both my hands on the edge of his ass, I’m sure he can see my intentions.
“Yes?” I ask, tilting my head to the side before pulling my hair back in a ponytail and tightening it with the hair tie that never leaves my wrist. He doesn’t answer; he just studies me, and I smile devilishly before saying, “Make sure you keep those on. I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing.”
I wink, not knowing where I’m getting his newfound confidence, but without taking my eyes away, I take his dick into my mouth, slowly sliding over it until I can’t take him any deeper.
I fist him hard as my hand follows my lips, my tongue sliding up. It’s been so long, but I continue doing what I think feels good, and with every hitch of his breath and breathy sound he freely gives, I take him deeper.
“Fuck,” he groans. I clench involuntarily as I gag around him, and he shakes his head. “You can stop.” He means it, even if he doesn’t want me to stop, which makes this moment even hotter.
Salty beads of precum tickle my taste buds. I never wanted something as much as I want his cum down my throat. I let go of his throbbing dick to stare at him and ask sheepishly, “Do you want me to stop?”
He shakes his head. “But I don’t want you doing something you don’t want to do.”
I offer him a crooked smile, sliding my fingers down my slit, gathering my arousal, and showing them to him. “Does this look like I’m not enjoying it?”
He groans, deep, throaty, full of need. “Fuck, Natalie.”
“I thought so.” I go back to my task, taking him as deep as I can and not stopping. I bring my fingers back down my core and match my mouth to the way my fingers expertly stroke my clit.
My throat relaxes around his dick as he brings both hands to hold my hair. He tugs gently at my ponytail first, but I moan, showing him exactly how much I want him to take what he needs.
“As if you couldn’t be more perfect,” he whispers, shoving his dick deeper into the back of my throat. I breathe through my nose, taking it all, tears rolling down my face as I slide my fingers deeper, searching for climax.
His eyes don’t leave mine, so I muster more of that same courage and keep my blues on his. I moan around him as I hit the spot between my thighs that will make me fold. He groans in response.
“If you don’t want me to come down your throat, you need to stop.” His words carry the opposite message of his tone, where one is asking permission and the other one is begging me to say yes.
I don’t stop.
I don’t stop sucking or pressing the spot between my legs. I don’t stop moaning, and I don’t stop looking at him.
Until I can’t take it anymore, and I tip over the edge.
