“You’re still giving orders. You want it, you have to show me how much you love it.”
He flops back on the couch and spreads his jeans open. I shed the blanket and start to lower myself to the floor, but he grabs my arm.
“Not like that. I don’t want you on your knees.”
I crawl over the couch and rest my head on his stomach as I draw him out of his boxers. He rests his hand on my back and sweeps my hair away from my face as I take him in my mouth.
He makes a little satisfied sound and says, “Do you know what they say, Rose? Bad girls suck cock. Good girls swallow. Are you a good girl?”
Quentin squeezes my side as I suck him, holding his shaft in my hand. He was already rock hard but his cock tightens even more in my mouth. I slip my hand into his boxers and cup my fingers lightly around his balls, feeling them throb and harden as I pleasure him.
He runs his hand up and down my back. We’re both slick with sweat. His fingers squeeze my ass, and he pulls me against him so I lie curled on the couch, eyes closed, resting against him as I suck him.
“That’s it. Take your time.”
He leans back and his hand moves from my back to the nape of my neck. It feels strangely pleasant for him to knead the muscles around my shoulders while I slowly slide his shaft through my lips and suck the head of his cock.
A strange impatience comes over me and I start moving faster, faster. Quentin grunts and his hips buck, and I can feel the tension in his stomach as I rest my head on him. I can feel him holding it in, but it’s too much and he can’t hold back the power of his own release.
He fills my mouth in a hot rush and I gulp it down, holding my lips tight around his shaft, squeezing him with my fingers to get it all out. He gasps when he feels me swallow, then again. There’s a lot.
I hold him in my mouth to make sure it I have it all, then slowly sit up and lick my lips.
“Didn’t spill a drop.”
Quentin looks at me hungrily, grabs my arms, and pulls me onto his lap. I want him inside me so badly. He kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth as I gasp in surprise, and I melt against him, sliding my hands up under his shirt to feel his warm skin. I put my head on his chest and breathe out slowly.
I haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time.
Then the fucking doorbell rings.
I lurch to my feet and immediately fall bare-assed on the rug.
Quentin sighs and tucks himself back into his jeans. “Who is it?”
“It’s Mrs. Campbell,” a thin voice calls through the door.
“I’ll get it,” I sigh, and more softly, “I need my pants.”
Quentin stands up and holds them while I step into them, taking another opportunity to grab my ass when he pulls them up around my waist. A girlish little flicker passes through me and I stick my tongue out at him before I walk to the door, my legs still quivering under my own weight. Quentin settles back into the couch.
He snatches my panties from the floor before I open the door.
Standing on my porch is Mrs. Campbell, the block captain, self-appointed guardian of all things yard related. A thin woman, she reminds me vaguely of a grasshopper, or maybe a praying mantis. A foot shorter than I am, she stands to her full height on my front porch.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she says primly. “Here.”
I take the sheet of paper she extends with a coil of dread in my stomach, expecting some ticket from the home owner’s association for some asinine violation like the wrong color flowerpot in my yard or something. Instead I sigh in relief. It’s a flyer for some community event.
We’re having a block party.
Of course she can’t resist pissing in my Cheerios.
“You need to cut your lawn,” she says, narrowing her eyes. She looks past me to Quentin. “Sir, is that your Chevrolet outside?”
“Yup,” Quentin says.
“You need to keep that vehicle in a garage at all times. Only cars three model years old and newer may be parked on the driveways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, yawning.
“See that you do,” she says, eyeing him, then me.
I can see it in her eyes. She’s judging me.
Well, fuck you, bitch.
“I’m required to give you the flyer. I’d rather you didn’t attend.”
She turns and steps down from the porch and I throw the door shut.
“What the hell did she want?”
I sigh, sit down next to him, and skim the flyer.
“Oh, I forgot. We’re having a block party this weekend. It’ll be such fun.” I roll my eyes. “If she wants me to stay inside, fine. The hell with it.”
He takes the flyer from my hand.
“The kids would like this.”
I eye him. “Yeah, probably.”
“We should do something.”
“I’m supposed to cook a dish.”
“I’ll do it.” He shrugs. “No big deal.”
“You seriously want to participate in this?”
“Why not?”
I sigh. “Fine. You, ah—”
“Check your watch.”
I do, and I sigh. Kids will be out of school soon.
“I can pick them up, if you want.”
“I’d have to call the school. I’ll meet them at the bus stop.”