I palm his balls, tugging gently as I suck him deeper into my mouth. My tongue flicks against his shaft as I moan.
Waylon slams his fist against the pantry door, which I take as a good sign. It drives me wild to drive him wild.
“Do I taste good, baby? Moan against my cock if you think I taste good,” he says. His hand is resting on the back of my head, but he’s letting me control the pace and rhythm.
I hum against his shaft, the vibrations causing him to jerk. He moves his hips back and forth as he gently pushes my hair away from my face. He gathers the loose strands into his hand and tugs gently, testing the waters of something I’d hoped would happen.
“You want me to fuck that perfect little mouth of yours?” He speaks between gritted teeth, practically growling.
I suck harder and moan, confirming that’s exactly what I wanthim to do. Gripping my hands around his thighs, I open my mouth wider and hold still.
Using his grip on my hair, he moved his hips against me, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth at a measured pace. He goes deep, testing the boundaries of my comfort as my eyes water. But I like it.
I grip him tighter and moan for more. His pace quickens and I grab his balls again, tugging on them as he fucks my mouth. Just doing this for him is causing a tightness in my belly, a fluttering of lust. He feels good, so I feel good.
His movements become more jagged and jerky as his dick glides over my tongue again and again.
“Do I get to come in your mouth, baby?” he asks. “Please.” His breath is ragged. He’s so close, I can feel it. I nod against him, moaning my approval once again.
The jerking movements stop, his cock twitching in place. And then, he groans loudly and he comes down my throat. I swallow, thinking nothing of how it tastes except that it’s Waylon, and my desire trumps everything in this moment.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and stand. Waylon is slumped over, catching his breath, dick still out.
“You know,” I say, crowding his space. “Last night, when we fucked, we didn’t even kiss.”
Waylon’s face registers surprise. Perhaps he didn’t realize it until I said something. But before he can respond, I keep going with my point.
“And I’d considered maybe that should be a rule. No kissing when we hook up. But doing that just now, and still having remnants of you all over my mouth, it got me thinking,” I say, running my hand over his chest.
“About what?”
“I was wondering if you were the type of man to kiss a woman after she goes down on you?” I tilt my head toward him, grinning with curiosity and hoping he will accept my challenge.
Waylon steps forward, away from the pantry door as he pushes me back against the counter. He looks into my eyes as he flips a strand of my hair back over my shoulder. Without a word, he gently wraps his hand around my throat and brings my mouth to his.
First, he licks my parted lips with the tip of his tongue, coaxing me to open my mouth wider. He dips his tongue in farther, lapping at mine and swirling it around. Our lips connect as the pressure of his fingertips on my neck tightens slightly.
He kisses me deeply and completely. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth just before he breaks the kiss.
“Darlin’, I’ll kiss you anytime, anywhere. And I do mean any…where. Hell, a little blood on the chin is nothing to me.”
“Duly noted.” I swallow, pressing my lips together as I gain my composure.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, taking a moment to wash my face and privately bask in how much I liked that. Technically, I didn’t come and the goal wasn’t for me to do so. But I thoroughly enjoyed making him feel good, and that’s all I needed right now. Sometimes you can get a lot out of just being therefor the other person and making them feel good. If more people adopted that practice, we’d all be in better shape.
There’s something about that feeling for me. About being able to make a man crazed with lust. I love it. And I won’t apologize for it.
CHAPTER 12
WAYLON
This whole havinga girl roommate business isn’t too bad. I’m not saying it was a good idea. But I ain’t sayin’ it’s bad either. Lyric cooks almost all our meals. I’d like to point out that I didn’t ask her to do that, nor do I expect it. She just does it. She also takes excellent care of Tater—loves on him and cuddles him all the time, whereas the previous two roommates mostly ignored him. She’s also neat and orderly, cleans up after herself. Oh, and she gives fantastic head.
Lyric never took me up on getting hers. But she has serviced me three times this week. I honestly can’t think of a more perfect roommate. As a matter of fact, she’s out this morning at the store grabbing some last-minute party items for today’s festivities. And she told me before she left that the dragon in her uterus is back to hibernating. Her words, not mine. And that Philip will not be joining us.
And while I’m glad that means maybe we get to hook up, I’m more relieved that Lyric is no longer in pain. I’m also a little happy about the Philip thing, but I bite my tongue. She’ssuffered this week. I carried her to the bath again, retrieved ibuprofen for her a couple of times, and made sure her heating pad was with her wherever she went. I felt bad. All that and she still blew me two more times after the first one. I must’ve asked her if she was sure fifty times. But not only was she sure, she seemed downright excited about it. So, who am I to deny her?
I shake my head at the memory as I baste the chicken in my smoker on the patio. The key to this is low and slow. By the time people show up—checks the time on my watch—in four hours, these birds will be about ready to eat.
