It’s pure sensation overload as I bridge the gap between satisfaction and ecstasy. Flynn’s face is a study in pure contrasts—of agony and ecstasy and everything in between.
I feel each nudge of his smooth head as it brushes my slickness. Feel the coarseness of the hairs on his thighs as they brush between my legs. It feels so good. Too good, and as my fingers continue their wet slide, I try not to look down. Try not to watch his expression, the dark moons of his lashes against his cheeks as he watches where we almost meet.
‘I want you to suck me off,’ he pants. ‘I want my mouth on you.’
His breathless demands and wishes push me immediately over that invisible edge.
There is nothing else but this moment.
And my tears of relief.
And this man whispering his sweet, filthy encouragements as he bucks up into me.
There is nothing but the pulse of my body and the sight of his own climax covering me.
