His hand found her hair, touched it tenderly. “Darling Susannah, I can’t.”
“I don’t want you to. I want to suck your cock, that’s all.”
“But—”
“Count to three hundred. Slowly. I’ll stop when you get to three hundred.”
She put her lips around the tip of his cock and looked up at him. He said nothing.
She released his cock from her mouth but took it up in her hand. Was that a twitch there? “There’s nothing wrong withmyknees.”
He grimaced. “Yes.”
She turned saucy minx. “Do you need to sit, my lord?”
She could tell she had vexed him. Just a bit.
“I am not infirm,” he said, all Ashthorpe now despite his half-naked state, his wet clothes.
“Start counting,” she said and began to stroke his shaft. His cock was beautiful even when not erect. All of him was beautiful. And, there, he was already growing under her hand.
“Count,” she said, taking in the hair at his groin, blond and threaded lightly with silver, the hang of his ballocks.
“One, two, three—ah?—”
She had nuzzled into his sac and started licking him there.
“Four, five, six?—”
“Slower,” she said and returned to loving his ballocks with her tongue and lips. There was stiffness already in his cock, but she would not rush the movement of her hand. She had all the time in the world.
Well, notallthe time. Five minutes. She had to drive him mad with desire in the next five minutes. And that was an eternity.
“Ten, eleven, twelve?—”
“Mmmmm.” He tasted so much like himself here. She released his shirt and cupped his ballocks with that hand and turned her mouth to the base of his shaft.
It was thicker now.
The shirt—which had fallen and draped over her and his phallus—moved. She looked up. He was holding the shirt to his belly, looking down at her and the work of her hand and tongue. And he was counting.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?—”
His voice was getting deeper, raspier, but the numbers rolled off his tongue relentlessly.
Her hand was stroking the top of his cock, and her tongue was against the base, but she changed those positions now and—yes. His cock was not fully erect, but it stood out from his body without any support from her. Not an upwards arrow yet, but the beginnings of a very robust cockstand.
“I need this cock in my mouth,” she said, and he groaned before he answered, “Thirty-five?—”
She took him as deeply as she could, her lips brushing against his hair. She would not, she realized, be able to do this if he were fully aroused.
She savored completely surrounding him, making a hot, wet compartment for his cock. Now to make it tight and snug. She sucked. She could swear he grew from that alone. His cock surged, pushed at the back of her throat.
She released him, gasping.
His count was faltering. “Forty-uh, forty-eight, forty . . . nine?—”
She put the head of his cock back in her mouth and lavedit with her tongue and became a bit wilder with her hand. Long, loosely held strokes.
