Never mind.
I wrapped my fingers around it, gripping like I might my own. Oddly, it felt like my own. Were all dicks the same? Somehow, in my curious-but-not-curious mind, I’d assumed they were different, like fingerprints, each having its own, I don’t know, curves and bends and texture.
Ew.Texture. No.
Shoving overactive thoughts aside, I focused, gentling my grip and sliding my hand up until his head was in my palm.
“Mm,” he said, which I took as a decent sign.
I traced a finger under the lip of his head. He twitched when I hit the underside, so I did it again. Another twitch. On a whim, I leaned down and licked that spot.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I like that.”
I licked again.
He squirmed again.
So I swirled my tongue all the way around his head. And again. Then took his head into my mouth and sucked.
His hand landed on my shoulder faster than I thought he could move, and a laugh echoed throughout my bedroom.
“What?”
“So, you don’t suck like a straw. It’s more subtle than that. And, for the record, teeth are bad.”
“Right. No straw or teeth. Got it.”
He grinned down his body at me, then let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Back at it, hockey star.”
I smiled at my nickname.
This time, when I took him into my mouth, I was careful to let my lips lead the way, hiding any fangs that might not feel great. He’d leaked a little, and thesaltiness startled me. But it also excited me. A part of Jacks was . . . holy shit . . . inside me.
My heart kicked into another gear at that.
I reached down and gripped his shaft like he’d done to me the night before, then took his length into my throat. He began to stiffen. I took him again . . . and again.
When he grew erect, he hit the back of my throat, and I gagged.
“Easy,” he crooned, his voice somewhere between drunken pleasure and awareness.
I took him again, this time working to open my throat, though I wasn’t quite sure how to make those muscles—or whatever they were—work right.
I gagged again.
Jacks’s hands found my shoulders and lifted me off him. “Easy, that takes practice.”
“I really want to practice.”
He chuckled. “Lie on your back. Let me show you again.”
And damn, did he.
Chapter 27
Jacks
Iwoke up to the smell of something burning. It wasn’t anything aggressively burning. I doubted it was a fire-department, evacuate-the-building situation, but there was the unmistakable scent of coffee being murdered by someone who didn’t know what they were doing.
