"Dickhead." I let out a moan when he muffles the word by pulling my head forcefully onto his cock, yanking my hair at the roots. I wrap my lips around him as he pushes his way further and further into my mouth.
"Prim and proper, straight-laced little virgin," he says, as I relax my throat, taking him in as far as I can, the irony of his words not lost on me. I cup his balls with one hand and he groans, pulling my head back and forth along his length, refusing to let me be the one in control. It's a few minutes before his grip on me loosens and he lets me go. I pull away from his cock, wrapping my hand around his base and sliding it up and down his length, his skin lubricated by a mix of our fluids. He warns me, his tone gruff. "You had better put your mouth back."
"I haven't been a virgin for months now, thanks to you. And you're an arrogant, egotistical prick who can't think about anything except getting laid," I say, unable to resist.
"Nerd," he says, but his head lolls back as I jerk him off into my mouth, my tongue stroking the end of his head.
"Manwhore." I wrap my lips around his head, sucking in as I stroke. I cradle his balls with my other hand.
"Shit," he says, pulling my head down farther. "Suck it like you mean it, Princess."
So I don't. I pull away from him. "I told you to stop calling me that."
"Go ahead and keep doing what you're doing with my cock, Princess," he says, "On your knees like that, with your sweet little mouth hanging open, and I'll come all over that pretty little face of yours."
The throbbing between my legs threatens to undo me. I want him more than I can stand. I stroke him, my grip firm. "I'd rather take it all in my mouth," I say, my voice low. "Jackass."
Gripping my head with both hands, he fucks my mouth, so much pre-cum dripping from the tip I think he's going to explode. I've gone down on him a handful of times now, but he's always stopped long before coming in my mouth, yanking me away from his cock and rolling on a condom before burying himself inside my *.
I want to taste him.
"Fuck, I'm going to come," he says, warning me, but I grab his thighs, swallowing him more deeply. "Kate..."
I moan my response, my tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, and I suck harder as I feel him start to lose control.
"Shit, Kate," he groans, his hands gripping my hair, holding me in place as he lets go, filling my mouth with his seed. I swallow once, then again, as his cock pulses, shooting the liquid into my throat.
After he comes, he doesn’t waste a minute, pulling me immediately to my feet. “Your fucking mouth,” he says.
“Don’t tell me,” I say. “I need to shut it, right?”
“Your mouth is fucking amazing,” he says. “You can keep your mouth open as long as my dick is inside it. Prude.”
“Thanks for the generous offer. Spoiled brat.”
“I can be generous,” he says, zipping up his pants. He’s still wearing his tuxedo, only now his shirt and jacket have a rumpled look, even though he’s been standing the whole time. He loosens the button on his jacket, and places it neatly on the chair by my desk. Watching me from across the room, he barks an order. “Strip. Now.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s romantic.”
“You already know that I don't do love. And you don’t want romance,” he says, undoing his cufflinks and then the buttons on his shirt. “You want someone who will tell you exactly what he’s going to do to you, and then fucking do it. And what I want is to see you take off that dress like you did the other night and show me that sweet body of yours.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He just peels off his shirt and slides out of his pants, the whole time never taking his eyes off me. Turning, I back toward him and let him unzip the back of the dress, and it falls heavy to the floor.
His hands are on me, palms sliding over my arms, down my waist, then across my ass. When he brushes his fingers against my * lips, I’m already so close I nearly come in response to his touch.
I inhale sharply before I speak. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” he asks. He takes his hands off me and I’m afraid for a moment that he’s not going to touch me again.
“What -- where are you going?”
He takes my hand. “Kneel over me,” he tells me as he lies down on the floor.
“What? Why --”
“Put your * on my face,” he says. “Now.”
If I weren’t already so hot I could barely speak, the command alone would make me weak. I start to turn around, but he stops me.
“No,” he says. “Face forward. This is all about you.”
I kneel over his face, my * inches from his lips, and watch with rapt fascination as he arches up and touches the tip of his tongue to me, licking from one end to the other. A gossamer strand of my juice hangs off the end of my lips, and he groans as he begins to lap me.