My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,34
single time in my life that a woman had ever asked permission to suck my cock. “Let me just tweak one thing first…”
19
Belle
Chris Rose officially made me lose my mind. He took normal, rational, logical Belle and threw it all out the window. Around him, I could be thinking straight one minute and then on my knees with my ass and pussy in his face the next.
Because, yes, that’s where I found myself. “Like this?” I asked. I could’ve dwelled on about a thousand reasons to be self-conscious, and maybe with another guy I would’ve been. Compromising didn’t even begin to describe my position.
Chris had insisted that he couldn’t wait to “taste me,” and showed me how to position myself so we could both go at each other simultaneously. I’d never been with a guy who was even remotely adventurous enough to suggest sixty-nine.
I’d spent the last few minutes getting an up-close and personal view of Chris’ cock. The idea of giving a guy a blowjob had never been really high on my desirability chart, but I was embarrassingly hungry to do it to Chris.
I jolted forward a little when I felt his mouth between my legs. He tugged my hips, forcing me to sink down a little, which let him drive his tongue more firmly against me.
The water was splashing on my shoulder blades and dripping from me to his chiseled body. I had to adjust to the white-hot explosion of pleasure between my legs for a few moments before I remembered I was gripping his cock in my fist.
I took his silky head in my mouth, circling it with my tongue while I pumped my fist up and down. He was so long that I felt like I was barely getting any of him in my mouth, but if the way he was already groaning against my pussy was any sign, I was doing good enough.
I loved the feeling of power—how what I was doing to him seemed to directly translate to how passionately he moved his tongue and mouth against me.
Chris was a magician with his tongue, which he would press against my clit and glide all along my folds. He’d use the tip to circle me, then drive inside my entrance and fuck me with it.
Any sense of shame went out the window. I humped his face and pumped my fist against him as my moans echoed off the shower walls.
The ghost of a thought haunted me—that there was a point after this moment, a point where I’d need to consider all the millions of implications what we were doing might have. But I pressed it down as soon as it rose in my mind.
My body clenched against an orgasm as I came. Before I was even through, he was repositioning me.
“I want you to ride me,” Chris said. For once in his life, he didn’t have that trademark grin of his on. He looked deadly serious, and as much as I’d come to enjoy his goofy side, it was hot to see him so serious.
I straddled him and put my hands on his chest, gently easing his huge length into me. Chris gripped himself at the base, pumping into me as I rocked up and down. He didn’t move his hand from himself, which gave me a delightful little brush of friction against my clit every time I pushed my hips down into him.
Chris’ mouth was half open and his eyes were locked on mine. I met them, then had to look away. It felt too intimate, as ridiculous as that was to say.
This was just another fling.
One more meaningless hook up.
Except when I met his eyes it felt like more than that. It felt real. Like I was currently sitting on top of my actual fiancé, and not just my fake one.
Chris put his strong grip on my hips, pulling me down onto himself and filling me with every last inch of himself he could. I sagged forward, feeling suddenly spent and exhausted. The line between orgasm and everything else was blurring, and my head was pounding with an unceasing rush of white-hot pleasure. I could practically feel it rushing through my veins and tingling all the way to my fingertips.
Chris’ pace increased, even as it felt like all I could really do was lean forward with my palms on the wet tiles beside him. I was hanging on for dear life.
The only sounds were our mingled breaths and the wet slap of our