He walked to the center of his bedroom and stopped, running a hand over his dark, wet hair, his fingers then doing the same to the sides of his beard. “Has she written back?”
The screen showed no reply, and there weren’t any bubbles beneath her name, telling me she was typing. “Nope.” I didn’t want to keep staring at it, so I tossed my phone onto his side of the bed, my gaze focused on his body. How did this man get hotter by the day? How did he get more chiseled? How was it possible that he was mine? And how did the mere sight of him make me wet? “I need you to come here.” I sat up and crawled to the end of his bed, flipping around so my legs were hanging toward the floor.
“I’m here.” He looked at me through his lashes. “You mean you want me closer?”
With my finger, I waved him over. “Much closer.”
He finally positioned himself in front of me, and I pulled at the towel, loosening the way it was wrapped and folded into his waist, and I let it fall to the floor.
He chuckled. “Are you telling me you want to no-show on our reservation that’s in twenty minutes? For the record, I have no problem with that.”
“I highly doubt it’s going to take you twenty minutes.” I fisted the bottom of his dick, a hard-on already setting in. “I seem to know what you like, and I’m usually pretty good at it.” Aligned right at my mouth due to his height and where I was sitting, I rubbed my lips around his tip. “I give you five minutes. Tops.”
“What about what I want to do to you?” He held my jaws, stroking them with his thumbs. “That’s going to take far more time ...”
“You can’t have me yet.”
“Hold on”—his grip tightened—“you’re telling me you’re going to give me head, but you’re not going to let me taste you?”
“Oh, you can taste me.” My tongue circled his mushroom edge and lowered down his pulsing vein. On the way back up, I licked the bead of pre-cum and swallowed it. “But not until after dinner.”
“How am I going to wait that long? That’s fucking torture.”
I smiled. “Sorry.”
I kept my eyes on his and surrounded his crown with my lips, tasting the shower on his skin and the spicy ginger-and-cinnamon scent that constantly clung to him. I was only a few inches deep, my hand lifting from the bottom of his dick, which pumped what my mouth couldn’t cover, when I heard, “Baby, fuck yes.”
He still held the sides of my face, his way of thinking he was controlling my movements even though he wasn’t. Because every bit of this was on me—how deep I went and how fast I swirled my tongue and how hard I sucked.
Gavin didn’t like the tease. He didn’t like the slow, dragged-out bob of my mouth. He wanted my cheeks to cave inward, turning into a suction cup, my tongue spooned on the underside of him and circling the top once I reached it.
So that was what I gave him.
On my way down, the back of my throat anticipated the brief grazing of his girth, and I made sure to calm my gag reflexes while my hand slid over him, the spit that had leaked out making that glide extremely easy. My palm went as far as his sac, squeezing and turning as it reversed back up.
“Ah,yesss,” he hissed. His abs contracted, his hips arched forward. “God, you know how to suck dick.”
I couldn’t tell him how much I loved this, my mouth was too full. I could only show him through sounds, making sure they were loudenough that the moans vibrated against him. Each time I released one, his body clenched, he’d attempt to rock forward, and he would let out the sexiest sound of pleasure.
All that did was make me go faster.
Harder.
I timed up my mouth and hand so they were working in tandem. So every part of his shaft was covered at all times, the friction coming from either the inside of my mouth or the skin of my fingers.
The speed was what worked him up—it was what drove him toward the edge. The sucking did, too, when I focused on his tip, adding an extra second or two to that sensitive spot before I dipped again. It was that spot that made him groan, “Emily,” the loudest. Because I treated his dick as though his orgasm was goading me, like I would do absolutely anything to draw the cum out of him.
And I would.
Even if that meant spending extra time at the top, using my hand to jerk off the rest, flicking my tongue across the peak.
I wanted his orgasm.
I wanted to watch him unravel.
I wanted to hear his vulnerability.
I wanted it to fill my mouth.
