The Intern - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,1
orgasm was the end goal—I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about that.
The thwap-thwap of my cock being wanked had me shuddering, then he tightened his grip to the point of pain and maneuvered me back against the wall with a silent threat if I didn’t comply.
I did.
Did I look like a fool?
And I was rewarded for my compliance when he pulled back from his kiss and dropped to his knees.
A startled cry escaped me when his lips, those soft goddamn lips that I’d felt against my own, encompassed the tip of my dick. I shuddered, shivering, crying out as he seemed to take me whole. No woman had ever done that, few men had either, so to feel every inch of me being swallowed was a luxury I’d never experienced. My hands fluttered at my sides, unsure of what to do, to cling to the wall or to grip him by the hair but I knew what these dark rooms looked like in the light.
Tiled walls that had seen more DNA than an episode of CSI. Unimaginative graffiti.
Why wouldn’t I prefer to hold him?
The crisp silk of his hair beneath my palms was as intoxicating as his smell, as his lips around my cock.
In my mind’s eye, I built a picture of him. He felt young. Younger than I’d usually go for. His aggression spoke of someone who was eager for this, who wanted it, but who was nervous. Something the tang of a whiskey sour on his breath confirmed—Dutch courage. He’d needed it to come in here.
The way he’d gone from eager beaver to letting me shove him against the wall, that also made me think he was younger than me. He wasn’t sure in his actions, would accept direction until I goaded him into his instincts taking over.
His hair drew me like a magnet, and my fingers crushed the artless fall of it as I raked his skull, grabbing a firm hold of him as he swallowed me down. I held onto him as he moved back and forth, his lips tightening, cheeks tunneling in so that they caressed my length as he sucked me, then, his hand moved to grab my balls and he rolled them in his palm, gently at first, taking care, before he pressed them together, squeezing them like they were ripe plums.
The startled cry that escaped me echoed around the room, prompting him to pause, before he carried on with what he was doing. The sudden rasps of my breath combined with the noise of him blowing me, and I had no choice but to choke out, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”
He paused, not because I’d asked though. Americans—they were all the same. They loved a British accent. And I had the most English of English accents. Eton had seen to that.
A sigh escaped him as he moved over me, one last gut-wrenching swallow that made my eyes roll back into my head before he pulled back, peppering the tip of my eager cock with a kiss that had my eyelashes fluttering.
Tenderness.
Who was this man?
Hard and aggressive, needy and eager, then tender?
He didn’t belong here.
Not with the rough fucks, the dark and raw hook-ups that ended with cum splattered on the floor for my staff to clean up later—poor fuckers.
It was weird to feel like I was taking advantage of him, but I did.
Who was I to say that this was his first time in a dark room?
All I knew was that no one had ever kissed my cock after sucking me down like a champ... Yet that proved nothing.
With one hand on my dick that was drenched in his spit, he jacked me off again then ground his cock into me as he rumbled, “Turn around.”
I didn’t hesitate to comply, twisting so that my forearms pressed against the tiles as I stuck my ass out. He let go of my dick and went to work on my belt, then shoved the waistband down over my hips, not stopping until they were bunched around my knees.
His fingers smoothed over the taut swells of my butt, digging into the muscles with the tips as he scraped along the skin before he pulled the cheeks apart. I expected him to grind into me again, but he didn’t. He dropped to his knees once more, stunning the hell out of me as he shoved his face between them and licked the pucker, flickering his tongue along the rosette, prodding the hole,