His voice is raspy and hard and I’m not sure I hear him.
“W-what?”
“Make yourself come, Piper. I know you know how to do that.”
It’s almost a relief that he wants me to, because I need it. Still, it’s mortifying to think about doing that in front of him…though he can’t see me very well in this position. And I still have my nightgown on. Looking quickly up at him, I’m relieved that he has his eyes closed as I bring him back into my mouth and slip a hand between my legs.
It’s not going to take me long. My body has never yearned like this before. Working my fingers against my clit slowly at first, I start to lose myself in the background moans and dirty talk—as if my mind is sinking into it without any real thought from me. I suck him faster, harder, playing with myself in time to keep up. His fingers dig into my hair, and then he fists the strands like the man from the video did, holding me firmly in position.
Sparing another quick look, my heart flutters to find him watching me. Suddenly, his cock swells in my mouth, even more rigid and hot. Something is about to happen.
“I’m going to come now,” he growls. “You can pull off or you can take it.”
My eyelids flutter. I’m only half paying attention as my body edges toward an impending orgasm. I don’t know what he means by take it, nor do I care. Sucking on him makes me feel even hotter as I play with myself and I’m so close, I don’t want to lose it now.
I take him in again and suck on him like the woman on the video until he turns so impossibly hard in my mouth that it has to hurt. His grip on my hair grows rough, almost painful, holding me in place as spurts of warm, salty liquid spill down the back of my throat.
“That’s right. Take my come. Drink it down.”
Swallowing on instinct, I grind myself against myfingers at the dirty words, moaning as I fall into an orgasm at the same time he fills my mouth with the last of his. Gasping for air, I pull back, falling onto my hands and knees on the floor to catch my breath. Nate helps me up.
“You’re a natural. The men are going to line up for you.” Handing me my robe, he urges me toward the door. “You know your way out.”
Hugging my robe to my chest, I blink in the bright hallway light as he closes the bedroom door in my face.
19
PIPER-LILY
My mother cookeda meal for us, all by herself. I didn’t quite believe it until I searched the kitchen for any sign of discarded takeout containers and found nothing.
When she asked me to come over for lunch—which I had to get approval from Nate to do—I’d assumed we were going out someplace local, or that she’d hired a chef to prepare some meals ahead of time and stock them in the freezer. Then I remembered that we obviously can’t afford those kinds of luxuries anymore, and her proud claim to have made spaghetti and meatballs all by herself seemed more plausible. I’m not sure she’s cooked anything by herself, ever.
Like,ever. The maid at our old house buttered my mother’s toast, for God’s sake, and Mom grew up with a whole host of domestic workers bustling around and tending to her and her parents’ every whim.
The spread on the table smells amazing and looks even better.
“This is great, Mom,” I tell her as I sit down. “I’m really impressed.”
She beams. Besides the spaghetti, we’ve got salad and breadsticks, and there’s also a plate of very flat, thin chocolate chip cookies that look like they might crumble if you pick them up wrong. I stare at the cookies, dumbfounded.
Growing up, I had a couple of friends whose parents liked to cook. My third-grade friend Belinda’s dad loved baking, and her house usually smelled like warm cinnamon and sugar on the weekends. I was always eager to go to sleepovers at her house so I could take advantage of the treats, although I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous that her dad took the time to make them. Mine wouldn’t be caught dead with an apron on. We had a personal chef, of course, but she only made desserts during the holidays or on special occasions.
“Where are these cookies from?” I ask.
She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “The oven, darling. Try one.”
Lifting the plate proudly, she plucks a cookie for herself and half of it crumbles, just as I expected. I snag the other half and pop it into my mouth, smiling as I chew. My eagerness surprises me, but this is so unexpected that I can’t help it.
Besides, I may have some lingering endorphins running through me from my lesson with Nate, and while I’m not happy about him closing the door in my face, I am smug over how good I made him feel. It was my first attempt at a blow job, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I got him to come anyway. I’m probably still glowing a little.
“It’s pretty good, Mom. Just a bit crunchy. But good.”
Grinning, she hops up from her chair and busies herself pouring wine for us, humming softly while she works. Who is this person? Granted, my mother always wears a smile and there’s no specific way to tell if it’s genuine or not. But her mood feels real.
“I’ve never had wine with a cap that you twist off,” she says. “But I thought, ‘What the heck? If other people can drink Boone’s Farm, then so can we!’”
She gives the bottle a triumphant jiggle and sets it back down.
