Her walls clench around my finger, which only pushes more of it out. “I’m trying,” she whimpers.
“Not hard enough.”
I don’t really know what I expected out of this other than teasing her, but I’m definitely not ready when she grabs my hand and brings it to her mouth. I watch, mesmerized, as she takes my cum-coated fingers between her lips and sucks them clean.
“That counts as inside me, right?” she asks, meeting my eyes with her hooded ones.
It really fucking does. Kudos to her for thinking outside the box.
When I return my hand between her thighs and gather more of it, she avidly repeats the gesture, feasting on the taste of our climaxes mixed together.
“See?” I taunt her. “You did get to swallow it.”
I grow envious after a few back and forths of this, so I ram two fingers inside her, scoop as much of our mess as I can, and instead of her mouth, I bring it to mine.
Fuck, we taste good. I’m familiar with her sweet saltiness, her sleek texture, and the flavor that’s uniquely hers. I’m also aware of the taste of my own cum, although I haven’t experienced it in a minute. But the two of us together is the taste of perfect sin.
How the fuck am I supposed to give that up once the time comes?
Gen’s apartment is exactly what I’d expectof an Upper East Side lawyer who comes from generational wealth. It’s tastefully decorated, vast, sleek, and has a fantastic view over the city and Central Park. It looks like the perfect home one might see in magazines. But it doesn’tfeellike a home. I’m not seeing her, no personal touches, no pictures…
There’s something sterile to it, which doesn’t match her intrepid personality.
I have nothing to say about the kitchen, though. It’s very well-equipped, and preparing breakfast before heading out has been a delight. I’m done with the omelet when Gen arrives in the living space, adjusting her blouse into her skirt.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be late,” she anxiously mutters.
She’s busy pinning pearl earrings on when she reaches the kitchen. Her eyes widen when she sees everything I cooked. “Jake, you didn’t have to do all this. I don’t even have time for breakfast.”
“You can’t start your day on an empty stomach, love. Not afterthat.”
Her cheeks flush to a mild pink. “It was a lot, wasn’t it?”
“Waking up to someone eating you out was on your list.”
“The rest wasn’t, though.”
True, but what can I say? I fucking love watching my cum seep out of her overworked pussy. It’s like a work of art, really, with her folds glistening from her own orgasm while mine runs down, white against pink, all the way to her puckered little arsehole.
Shit, just thinking about it makes me swell in my jeans.
I give her a proud grin. “No, I improvised the rest. But stop acting like I’m the one at fault here. I vividly remember you begging for it.”
After a brief silence, she eyes the gargantuan breakfast I cooked for us. I can tell she’s tempted, but the prospect of being late holds her back.
“I can drop you off if you want,” I offer. “You can have my helmet and gloves.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It can be. But I’m a careful driver—especially with a precious package on board.”
Her lips purse in a failed attempt to hide how much she enjoys the compliment. “If we crash and I die, I’ll come back and haunt you forever,” she warns.
I slip a hand around her waist and pull her closer. “You promise?”
“I’ll poltergeist the crap out of you.”
A chuckle pours out of me as I bend to claim her lips and seal the deal. She better return and haunt me because I’m not done with her yet.
