I nod again. “Yeah, babe. Three minutes and you’re going to be seeing fucking stars.”
I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I gently place the headphones over her ears and help her relax back into the mattress.
She keeps looking at me skeptically, but it only makes me smile. Because I know in just a few minutes, she’s going to feel the kind of pleasure that’ll make her think she’s having an out-of-body experience.
From my phone, I choose the one song that will seal her pleasurable fate—“Nessun Dorma.”
Sung by Luciano Pavarotti, the one and only man who could sing it to perfection.
I know this piece like the back of my hand, and once I hit play and the music is flooding into Daisy’s ears, I engage in my selfish desires of putting my mouth on her.
Without preamble or hesitation, I bury my face between her thighs and lap and lick my tongue against her. She’s sweet like honey, and every time her hips jolt forward from the sensation of my mouth, it makes my cock grow harder by an inch.
Fuck, this is heaven.
I wish I could stay here all fucking day, licking and sucking and feasting on her. But I’m on a time limit, and I know, very soon, the orchestra and Pavarotti are going to start hitting the notes that will spur the most powerful orgasm Daisy has ever experienced and wring her fucking dry.
My mouth wrapped around her clit, I suck, flick my tongue, and suck and suck and suck until her body starts to vibrate beneath me. Her moans grow louder by the second, and when her hands go to my hair, gripping the strands so tight it makes my damn skull hurt, I know she’s there.
Fuck yes.
Incomprehensible shouts escape her parted lips as her climax consumes her.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and her body shakes and trembles beneath me, and I never stop eating and sucking at her. I ride out her orgasm right along with her, and I don’t stop working my mouth against her until I feel her body go lax.
My chin resting on her belly now, I stare up at her as her breasts heave up and down with panting breaths.
“Holy shit,” she mutters. “Holy fucking shit.”
With shaky hands, she takes off her headphones and looks down at me in shock. “What was that? What just happened to me?”
“That’s opera, baby.”
She snorts. Giggles. Shakes her head. “That was insane. I felt…like I was in my body but not in my body. Hell, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk anytime soon.”
I grin.
“But you know what I can do?”
“What?”
She doesn’t respond, but a mischievous smile kisses her mouth as she sits up and crawls down toward me. Her fingers are on my boxers, pulling them down before I know it, and my cock pops free of the cotton constraints, still hard from watching Daisy come.
“What are you doing, babe?”
“I need to make you feel good, Flynn.”
She needs. She fucking needs.
Daisy leans forward and puts her mouth on me. Slow and teasing at first, she wraps her lips around my cock and begins to gently suck at my length.
Well, fuck. It feels good. Too good. And watching the way she greedily takes me into her mouth makes it even better.
I watch the way her eyes fall closed, as if it’s giving her actual pleasure to do this to me. I feel her warm breath against me as small moans escape her throat. And I don’t miss the covetous way her hands grab at my thighs and abdomen and chest.
Daisy is a fucking goddess. A woman who surprises me at every turn. A woman who gives me the kind of pleasure I’ve never experienced before.
You could spend forever having weekends like this with her, and it still wouldn’t feel like enough.
Friday, May 17th
Daisy
“Good morning, Daisy,” a smiling, happy woman in a pair of medical scrubs with cute kittens all over the material greets me as I step into an exam room. “I’m Susan. I’ll be the nurse who’ll be helping Dr. Fields do your physical today.”
She glances at her clipboard. “I have a note here that this physical is for immigration requirements, correct?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Okay, great. I’ll make sure Dr. Fields has the forms she needs to file with USCIS.” She gestures with one arm toward the lone, white-paper–covered exam table in the room. “You can go ahead and take a seat.”
I follow her instructions, and the paper beneath my skirt-covered butt rustles and crinkles as I adjust my hips and cross my legs.
I don’t know what it is about doctors’ offices and hospitals, but they always have the same smell. A weird, everything-is-sterile odor that shouldn’t remind you of being sick, but for some reason, it does. It’s a conundrum, I tell you.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, get your vital signs, and then Dr. Fields will be in to do her examination.”
“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” I blurt but then cringe. “I mean, that sounds great.”
Besides the strange odors, places where medical shit occurs always make me uncomfortable. There’s just something about a random stranger in a white coat asking invasive questions about your life and daily habits that never sits well with me. I mean, can you take me dinner before you start asking me about how many sexual partners I’ve had? Sheesh. I don’t want to start an intimate relationship with you; I just want you to tell me if this mole on my back is normal.
Truthfully, I have the same issue with the dentist.
Luckily, Susan doesn’t appear to notice the giant pink weirdo in the room and gets on with the show.
“Have you experienced any illness in the past two weeks? Cough, runny nose, fever, body aches?”
“Nope.”
“Since we don’t have your immunization records, we’ll have to do a full blood work-up to check your titers for all of the diseases USCIS requires. Is that okay?”
Ugh. Blood work. Another reason why I hate going to the doctor. But it’s not as if I have a choice in the matter. If I want a green card, I best be showing my veins.
Internally, I cringe and grit my teeth, but externally, I nod. “Okay.”
“Any pertinent past medical history we should know about?”
“Not that I can think of. I don’t take any daily medications or anything. And my only surgery was a tonsillectomy when I was eight.”
“What about a history of drug use, excessive alcohol use, or smoking?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Although, all this immigration stuff might lead me to drink…
“Have you ever been pregnant before? Have any children?”
“No.”
“Is there any chance you might be pregnant?”
I start to open my mouth to say no, but then, I’m hit with the truth of Flynn’s and my relationship. We’ve had sex. A lot of sex. And we’ve never once used a condom.
Way to be responsible, Daisy.
Susan stares at me, and I laugh nervously.