This is the first time a man is acting like I’m doing him a huge favor by letting him give me head. Being at the center of sex like this is intoxicating.
My loud, hoarse moans surprise me. I’ve never been this vocal in bed before, but I can’t help it, especially whenever my eyes land on our reflection in the glass.
My tall, muscular man, who looks like he’s just come out of a business meeting in a white shirt and dress pants, is gripping the sides of my thighs like his life depends on it while his head is buried in my behind.
I look like a prim and proper 50s housewife from the waist up, and from the waist down, I’m Hawk’s personal plaything that’s eagerly grinding up on his face.
The thought of someone seeing the two of us like this threatens to push me over the edge.
I keep calling out to him, begging for him to save me somehow. As the sensations inside me expand and travel through my body, it’s almost too much, and I briefly worry that I’m going to die.
When Hawk’s tongue flicks the underside of my swollen clit just right, the tremble inside my body spirals out of control, and I jerk and squirm all over his face.
As the sweet relief of my orgasm rushes through me, I start laughing - an exhilarated, freeing belly laugh that ends in teary eyes.
Luckily, Hawk doesn’t misunderstand.
I’m lying on my back now, stomach muscles still trembling with the aftershocks of his handiwork (mouthwork?), and he kneels above me with a gentle, yet cocky smile on his face.
The lower half of his face is glistening wet, and my greedy insides pulse at the sight. The sensation is pretty uncomfortable so soon after my orgasm.
Then I notice the dark, wet stain at the front of his pants.
Is it possible he came just from this?
He sees me staring and gives me a shy half-shrug. “I liked eating you out. A lot.”
“I can see that.” The husky, seductive words are unlike me.
They sound like the words of a woman who’s used to rendering men a helpless, leaky mess.
“I hope you liked your celebration,” Hawk tells me as he positions me as his little spoon after we shower and change into our pajamas.
Surrounded by the safety of his arms, I drift off to sleep before I can respond.
Chapter 30
Marissa
“What are you working on?” Molly asks me.
I look up from the intricate scales I’ve been embroidering for the last hour. Her shirt says, Like slavery and apartheid, poverty is not natural.
For the first time since we broke up, I remember Dylan without bitterness. I wonder what he would think about this one.
“My birthday present for the twins,” I explain.
“Oh! When is it?” She asks as she sits down across from me.
“This Saturday.”
“June 4, making them… Gemini, how about that?” Molly says with a small laugh, then frowns at my work. “What are you making?”
“It’s a shiner fish patch. ’Cause of his road name, you know.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I had no idea Tom was into fishing.”
It’s my turn to raise eyebrows. Tom? Guess Hawk was right about her crush on Shiner. Huh.
