She obeys immediately, and I slide my cock back into that wet heat. This time I don't force it. Don't shove deep enough tomake her gag. Instead I fist her hair—both hands tangled in all that platinum blonde—and use it to guide her head exactly how I want.
Back. Forward. Slow circles that make her lips stretch around my shaft.
"That's it," I breathe, watching my cock disappear between her swollen lips. "Fuck, that's perfect. You're so fucking good at this, baby."
She moans around me, the vibration traveling straight up my spine. Her tongue works the underside, tracing the vein that runs along my length, and I have to force myself not to thrust hard enough to make her choke again.
Not yet.
I want her to finish me properly this time. Want to feel her take control, show me what she can do when she's not fighting for air.
"Use your hand," I instruct, loosening my grip on her hair slightly. "Show me how well you know me."
Her hand comes up immediately, wrapping around the base while her mouth works the head. The combination is devastating—wet heat and tight pressure in perfect rhythm. She hollows her cheeks, sucking hard, then releases to lap at the slit with the tip of her tongue.
"Fuck," I groan, head falling back. My hips start moving of their own accord, shallow thrusts that she matches perfectly.
She knows exactly what she's doing. Seven months hasn't dulled this at all. If anything, she's better—more confident, more deliberate. Like she's been fantasizing about this, practicing in her mind.
The thought makes my balls tighten.
"I'm close," I warn her, voice rougher than I intended. "You want to swallow me, baby? Want to taste it?"
Before I finish the question, she lunges forward.
Takes me deep—so fucking deep I feel the head hit the back of her throat. Her eyes water instantly but she doesn't pull back. Just holds there, throat convulsing around me, and then swallows.
The orgasm hits like a physical blow.
I come hard, buried in her throat, my entire body going rigid as pleasure detonates through me. Wave after wave, each pulse filling her mouth while she struggles to take it all.
I pull out before she chokes—before the lack of air becomes dangerous—and the last few spurts hit her face. Her cheek. Her lips. One thick rope across her nose.
I'm laughing before I can stop myself. Genuine laughter, rough and breathless, as I look down at her kneeling there covered in my come.
She's smiling too. Actually smiling, despite everything. Despite the tears and the way she's gasping for breath.
Fucking perfect.
I drop to my knees, cupping her face in both hands—not caring about the mess, not caring about anything except getting my mouth on hers. I kiss her hard. Brutal. Claiming every inch of that mouth.
Then soft. Gentle. Reverent, almost.
Then everything in between—rough, and tender, and possessive, and worshipful all at once. My tongue traces her bottom lip, tasting myself there, and I don't give a single fuck.
When I finally pull back, she's looking at me with those wide hazel eyes. Vulnerable. Open. Everything I've been craving for seven months.
"I love you," I say.
The words come out easier than I expected. No hesitation. No calculation. Just the truth, simple and absolute.
Her breath catches.
I stand before she can respond. Tuck myself back in, button and zip my pants. The fabric settles around my hips, and I'm already moving toward the door.
"Caleb—"
"You know where to find me," I say without turning around. My hand finds the doorknob. "When you're ready."
