She finds me swiftly—drawn by my desperate scent, no doubt—and hoists me against the wall, slinging my legs over her shoulders to hold me at the height of her mouth as she swallows my length.
To steady myself, I tangle my hands in her hair, that platinum silk, and her overlong ears brush against my fingers as they swivel.
It scares me, those little ways she shifts: her ears, lengthened like a cat’s, angling toward my moans; her pupils tightening to slits, widening when she sights me; her nails turning to claws, sharp and long, with impossible strength.
Terrifying, butfuck,it turns me on.
Especially when her tongue stretches longer, teasing my ass.
I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my whimpering. Her lips stay planted at my base as her tongue drags along the underside of my shaft, around my balls, and over my perineum, the tip pressing through my rim.
Fuck, does this woman ever breathe?
She swallows around me, and the tight ripple of her muscles down my length pulls me into the first of many peaks. Her tongue presses deeper, stretching me, andfuckit feels amazing.
Climax after climax, she works her way further in. Every time I glance down, I meet those brutal azure eyes, predatory and ravenous as she devours me.
This is the furthest she’s stretched me so far, and I know why:
She’s getting me ready for her knot.
The mere thought sends me tipping into my hardest climax yet, and my whole body twitches as I finish draining down her throat.
When my cock finally softens, Christine retracts her tongue, twisting it around my oversensitive shaft and sending me trembling before licking her lips with satisfaction.
She pulls my waistband over my hips as my weary legs struggle to coordinate enough to hold my weight. I lean heavily against the I-beam again.
Christine just smirks down at me and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.
At the sight, I almost pass out.
Then she saunters away, and I stare at her ass in her tight yoga pants. My cock musters a final throb before giving up and letting me have control of my body again.
Other than me being a little tired, the last couple hours of shooting go smoothly. When I get back to the hotel, I fall asleep early, grateful for the dreamless rest.
Two more days.
An hour before my alarm, I wake aching and hazy with heat. Though the grogginess won’t lift, a sure purpose drives me up and out of bed.
I stumble like someone still drunk from the night before as I grab my backpack and head outside. Refusing to think about what I’m doing, I walk around the block until I’m out-of-sight from the rest of the motel rooms, then order a ride share.
It’s twenty minutes of sheer misery, and every jolt of the little car sends a spike of pain through my bones.
When I reach the hotel, I’m practically blind to everything but her scent, and all I can do is follow its lingering traces.
My nose leads me to the stairwell, and I have no idea if I’m going to be able to get out on her floor; I just know her palm brushed the banister right here. A fleck of her sweat hit the floor over there. The subtly fresher scents lead me up, up. I stop counting flights after ten, my body at once weary and totally wired. A strange energy animates my aching limbs and carries me to the next hint of her scent.
I can see the stairwell door that bears the scent of her palms, but I lean heavily against the banister, unsure my body has enough energy to take another step.
The door swings open—and her scent hits me like a tidal wave. I moan.
“Mylo…”
Then her arms are around me and mine are sliding under her cropped shirt, freeing her breasts, bringing those perfect nipples to my mouth. Whatever flicker of intention she had to get me back to her room fades, and she palms my cock.
I’m already cumming, my moans echoing shamelessly through the stairwell. I can’t stop—I need her, I need this.
Her fingertips sink into my ass cheeks, prying me apart, and my cock spills again. All it takes is her massaging my perineum and teasing my rim through my shorts, and I pour it all out for her, soaking myself.
