He said Denver never crossed this line, so it shouldn’t be a trigger.Even so, I’m cautious, paying attention to his breath, his muscles, the smallest changes as I stretch out between his legs and lower my head.
Beautiful.I’ve never thought of a dick in that way, but the long, thick, leaking hardness between Wolf’s legs is unreasonably, irresistibly beautiful.He’s immaculately formed, uncut, no blemishes, no curves, nothing outside the golden rule of proportions.
Except his size.
His length and girth are significantly more impressive than every man I’ve been with.
My brain fires in eighty filthy directions as I stare into his eyes and slowly lick a wet circle around the bulging, plump head.
His jaw falls open, and his muscles lock.Not a single part of him moves as I take him into my mouth.
Oh, damn.
The sound he makes is guttural, wild, dragged from a place of pure ecstasy.So.Fucking.Sexy.
His head snaps back against the pillow.His throat arches, long and cut with muscle, every line of it tightening as another obscene sound punches out of him.
He’s hot and slippery against my tongue, pulsing hard, the skin smooth and tight.I trace the swollen veins with my lips and palm his heavy balls, learning the shape and texture of him.
“Dove…” A mangled whisper.
His hand fists in the sheets beside him, and his stomach tenses, the hard ridges flexing with the swirl of my tongue.His hips jerk, uncontrolled and instinctive, before he forces them down with a bitten-off groan.
All his usual swagger is gone, his flirty smiles and patented one-liners nowhere to be seen.
He’s actually shaking.His eyes squeeze shut.His back arches, and his thighs go rigid around me.
He’s losing the battle, and we both know it.
Need.Yeah, I fucking need him.For the past week, he’s given me the greatest head of my life, leaving me wrecked and boneless more times than I can count.
I intend to ruin Wolfson Strakh the way he’s ruined me.
As I hum and suck and draw him into the back of my throat, I keep my fingers moving on his scrotum, teasing and exploring.
Without taking my eyes off him, I read every twitch, held breath, and flicker of emotion as I shift my hand lower to caress the skin behind his ball sack.
His breath quickens, and his thighs quiver violently.
I lift my head.“Should I stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”He rocks his hips, restless and panting.
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much.”
“Wicked Dove.”He groans.Not a warning.Definitely a plea.
I suck him back into my mouth and slide my finger farther back, testing with soft pressure and gentle touches.His entire body shudders.
“More.”His head falls back, mouth parted, his voice breaking on a growl that sends heat racing through me.“Don’t stop.”
The desperation in his expression is all the permission I need, but I still watch him, his eyes, his breath, the flux of tension rolling through his limbs.No fear.No recoil.Just hunger.Feral, unfiltered animal lust.
I follow his voice, his body, and the way he opens under my touch.I move with purpose now, letting my mouth and the hum in my throat build frenetic ripples through his body as my wet fingers stimulate the sensitive spot behind his sack.
When I reach the place where he was abused, I lightly circle the tight knot of muscle, a delicate touch.An offer.A question.
He clenches beneath me, shaking, breathless, undone in a way I’ve never seen him.
