I grasped his balls and rolled them around in my hands.
Another moan. His eyes drifted shut as I hollowed my cheeks and sucked for all I was worth. He tried to tighten his thighs, but I held them apart with my shoulders. With my other hand, I circled his rim.
“I’m coming, Baby. Please—”
That was as far into his warning as he got. He stiffened, then shot cum into my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could, butthere was just too much, and a bit dribbled out of the corner of my mouth.
Still, I kept sucking—wanting every last drop of him.
He shuddered. His grip on my hair loosened, and he stroked my cheek gently. “Oh Baby.”
I grinned. Then I crawled up his body and gave him a kiss. A toe-curling, tongues-clashing, deep-drugging kiss.
He grasped my cheeks and encouraged me to come even closer. To meld our bodies together. “You haven’t come.” He whispered the words.
“I’m good.” I chuckled. “I just wanted to see you climax.”
“I want to return the favor.”
Yet I didn’t want him to. As much as a blow job would’ve been nice, I wanted him to continue to sink—and revel into—his bliss.
“You really want me to come?”
He nodded. “Please. That.”
I scooted back, so I straddled his hips. Mindful of his very deflated cock, I positioned myself. Then I took myself in hand. Just six tugs and my balls drew up. I came all over him.More showers and washing sheets.I grinned even as I sank into the fantastic orgasm.
“Come here.” He held out his arms.
I eyed my spunk all over his chest.We’re going to shower anyway.
We did…eventually.
And since I was hornier than at any point in the last seventeen years, we also exchanged hand jobs in the shower.
After we dressed, stripped the bed, and put on fresh sheets, we made our way to the kitchen—following our noses and, more particularly, the smell of sizzling bacon.
Adele greeted us with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I was going to suggest Fifties, but then I decided a nice brunch athome was in order. I’ve cooked up pancakes, French toast, and eggs are just waiting for their marching orders.”
Jarrod chuckled. “French toast is more than enough for me. My favorite.”
“And bacon.” She eyed him—as if daring him to give the wrong answer.
“Yes, please.” He grinned.
She nodded. For all of her environmental activism—and I’d gotten plenty of lectures about my profligate lifestyle—she couldn’t bring herself to give up bacon or hamburgers. Even thoughcow farts are ruining the atmosphere.
“Is there anything we can do?” Jarrod glanced around the kitchen and, undoubtedly, saw what I saw. Table set. Kitchen counters mostly free of pots, pans, or anything else. Adele always managed to clean as she went, but even after forty years on this planet, I hadn’t managed to figure that one out.
She pointed to the table. “Let me grab the plate out of the oven.”
Moments after we’d plopped our butts, she procured a plate piled high with thick-cut golden-colored French toast and pancakes clearly cooked to perfection.
My throat felt a little raw as I swallowed. “Thanks, sweetie.”
She arched an eyebrow as she put the plate on a coaster.
“Sorry. Thank you, Adele.” Because we’d had that conversation. Just because I wanted her to stay little forever, didn’t mean she was willing to. Sixteen had been her hard limit. I could call herdaughterorAdele. That was all she’d tolerate.
