“Mia, don’t,” I warn.
“Or the denim shorts? With the gingham top? You seemed a little rattled when I wore that. I could do my hair in pigtails, be a real country cowgirl for you.”
“Mia…”
She bites her lip, her heels digging into my ass, my cock still throbbing inside her.
“Let me taste myself on you,” she whispers against my lips.
My dick practically nods, and I slip out of her. “You wanna suck my cock, Miss Sinclair?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Dr. Adams.” She smirks.
“Get on your knees, beautiful.”
I shift so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, Mia between my legs, looking up through her long lashes. She’s a mess, makeup smeared and panting.
She grips the base of my cock, her other hand caressing my balls, tugging on them gently. I want this to last. I want to watch her bring me to the edge of insanity before calling me back. Her tongue swipes the underside of my cock before she pulls back, considering the taste of herself.
A small smile tugs at her lips, and I stroke her cheek with my thumb.
“You can do better than that, Mia.”
“So impatient.” She tuts. “I just wanted a little taste.”
But she rises to my goading. Her tongue swirls around the head, lapping up the pre-cum spilling from my slit. Her perfect pink tongue flicks at the underside, pressing flat before taking me deep. Her wet mouth slides over my cock, her cheeks sucking in as the pressure builds in the base of my spine. I wish I could say I had any semblance of control, but I don’t. Mia fuckingSinclair, my employee, is naked, on her knees, taking me down without fucking flinching. I'm almost certain it’s the blowjob talking, but I might be in love.
Her head bobs up and down, her nails scrape the underside of my cock, just above my balls, and I’m fucking done. Mia’s relentless teasing for the last six weeks, possibly longer if I could do basic math right now, which I can’t. Her pace is unrelenting as my cum hits the back of her throat, a low growl escaping my throat as I feel her swallow.
I’m dead.
I died weeks ago, and heaven has led me to this moment.
Mia fucking Sinclair.
“You really have a thing for nails, don’t you?”
“When you’re scraping me with them, apparently, yeah.” I lie back, looking at the ceiling as she crawls on top of me. She settles in at my side, her cheek resting on my chest as her leg falls over mine. Her finger trails down my sternum, over my abs, making me clench.
I kiss the top of her head, and I feel her stiffening, shrinking in on herself. She pulls the bedcover over her chest so all I can see is the curve of her hip which is slowly withdrawing from reach.
“So, I can get going now if you like? Let you get ready for the week,” she says, lifting off me, holding the comforter over her chest.
It’s not even been ten minutes, and she’s already on her way out.
“What happened?” I ask, reaching for her hand that swipes away at the last second.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re running off.”
“I’m not…” she winces. “I just figured you’d want me to leave.”
“Why the hell would you think that?”
