then he bites it, sucking it into his mouth. I can’t breathe, watching his mouth pull on me, until it feels like my body is hardwired to his tongue, everything sparking alive, nipples, my core, all of it connected to his sinewy wetness. He sucks me, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
He lets my finger go slowly, with a soft pop.
He moves back to staring at me, his pupils large, dark, and focused on me.
My body tightens. I know that look. I recognize that heat and desire. I feel it too, every time he’s close to me. Goose bumps sprinkle over my skin, a buzz in my bloodstream…
He stands and paces around the room, his hand in a fist as he puts it to his mouth.
“Come back,” I whisper.
He stops and looks at me.
“If I come back…I don’t think I can resist touching you.”
“Okay.”
He inhales sharply, walks over to me, and gets back on his knees. “I want your mouth, but you don’t like kissing.”
I love kissing, but if I do that with him right now, I’m lost, and he’s already ripped me apart once, so goddamn hard. I can’t go there again—
As if he senses my reticence, he lets out a deep breath, looks away, and stares at the fan, watching it twirl.
“Blaze…” I don’t know what I’m going to say.
He nods, almost as if to himself, and turns back to me. I press a kiss to his palm and press it to my face. I can’t not—even though it’s going to haunt me later.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
He watches me, and when he speaks, his voice is low. “I’m thinking if I can’t have a kiss, I want my dick between those full lips, your mouth and tongue on me. We never did that. We never did…” His voice stops as he takes a deep breath. He cups his hand over his jeans, and his pants tighten, jutting out against the fabric. “Would you like it? Would you get on your knees for me?”
“I’ve never done that with anyone.” I’ve had opportunities to, and guys have begged, but that level of trust and intimacy always intimidated me. It was a way to keep myself separate and apart.
“I’m not just anyone, am I?” His words are quiet, yet the very edges of them tremble.
“No.” I pull on his hair, threading my fingers through the soft strands as he bends his head closer. His hand pops the button on his jeans and unzips them just a little. His pants are barely past his hips, but his large mushroom-shaped cockhead is visible as his hand wraps around it and strokes.
“Blaze…” I sigh as he runs his fingers over the thick head in circles, white liquid slipping out of the slit at the top.
He watches himself then looks at me. “I can’t stop. Lying there with you for all those hours, knowing you were next to me…”
I watch his hands pump, sliding over the brown skin of his cock, more thick white liquid beading. He rubs the wetness down the part of his length I can’t see, the slick sound of his strokes loud in the quiet room. “I’m thinking about you, your hot mouth sucking me like a lollipop. I want that. I want you taking every inch of me down your throat.” His head goes back with another loud groan, and the top of him is red now, bigger and thicker as his hand works it. With a mumbled curse, he shoves his jeans down the rest of the way and I see all of him, from root to tip. He’s huge, thick, and veiny. Hard as a steel pipe.
“Are you with me, Charm? Are you turned on?”
I tear my gaze off his length. My hands clench. I nod.
“Take your shirt off,” he tells me, and I comply, pulling it over my head and letting it fall on the bed. I skate my fingers over the edge of my black lace demi bra, glad I have it on. I think about how I must look, chest heaving, hair everywhere, my skin flushed. My breasts feel heavy and tingly, begging for sensation. The air from the fan breezes across my nipples, erect and aching, and I arch my back. I push the wire of my bra down until it’s underneath me, lifting me up. The fabric brushes over the piercing in my right breast, and I hiss.
“Christ! Your body…” he says. “That nipple ring—fuck.”