Page 63 of Barefoot Lake

She smiles and gently thuds to her knees, finding comfort in the instruction.

“Take off my pants.”

As she undoes the button and zipper, the backs of her fingers brush against me, and I jolt. Now I’m the one squeezing the back of the couch over Alice’s shoulders.

She looks up at me through her lashes.

“Good girl. Keep going.”

She pushes my pants down so I can step out of them and rubs her hands up my legs until they meet the bottoms of my boxers. She hikes one side up when she sees more ink peeking out and drags her nails across the broken clock face tattooed there.

I hum a content sound. I’d let her touch me all day.

She looks up at me quickly, like she’s asking for permission to explore.

“Go ahead,” I urge. “Touch me.”

She spreads her fingers across my thigh and slips her hand under the fabric of my boxers. Suddenly, she shifts so her finger brushes against my length.

I think my heart stops.

“Jesus, Ace,” I choke out.

She smirks, quite pleased with herself.

“Take off my boxers.”

She withdraws and reaches for the waistband with steady hands.

Please.

I swear my nerve endings are completely wrecked because I feel every millimeter of movement like it’s in slow motion. I’m aching for her and spring free the second the material is pulled down far enough.

She doesn’t wait for my instruction this time, leaving my boxers at my knees and wrapping a hand around me. She tests me with a tight stroke.

I think I see stars.

I watch her explore more of me, relishing the way her eyes consistently darken, pupils blown wide. Her uptick in confidence is fucking incredible to witness.

“Wow,” she breathes, and I preen with male pride before she tightens her grip, and I jerk into her hand.

“Alice,” I hiss. I take a deep breath through my nose, attempting to hold on to the illusion that I have any control. “Tighter.”

She dutifully obeys, holding a firm grip and leaning forward, eyes jumping up to mine for just a second.

“Yes…” The word comes out through my teeth when I feel her tongue flick against the head.

She looks up at me again, and it’s a fucking miracle I don’t blow at the sight of her sitting on her knees with my length in her hand.

“Open your mouth, Alice.”

She does as she’s told and takes me along her flat tongue, eyes still trained on me. Closing her lips around me, her cheeks hollow out. She twists her hand around the part of me that doesn’t fit in her mouth.

I’m a goner.

One of my hands falls to the back of her head, where I stroke once before I start guiding her.

I willingly praise.