“Well, what?” I try to sound casual, like it’s every day that I have a hot-ass naked man in my damn kitchen, and fail terribly.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, crossing the space between us. His cock is so close to my body, all I can think about is wrapping my hand around it. But I don’t. I seem to have completely forgotten how to move, and now he wants me to articulate what I want?
I can barely remember how to breathe.
And no one has ever asked me what I want, let alone told me to say what I want.
"Tell me," he says, his voice low and demanding. "I want to know exactly.” When I try to reach for his cock, he wraps his hand around my wrist. "Not so fast. Tell me."
"I want you," I answer feebly.
He reaches up, traces his finger down my chest, between my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine. "I already know that,” he says. “Tell me what else you want."
I'm self-conscious, tongue-tied. "I want you to ... fuck me."
"Yes, I know that too." He slides his finger over my clit. He kisses me, drawing my bottom lip between his teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop me when I reach for his cock, wrapping my hand around his thickness. "How do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me down on my knees, my tongue licking your * until you come on my face, before I carry you up to your bed and fuck you so slowly that you're begging me to let you come?”
My breath hitches in my throat as I slide my hand up and down the length of his hard cock, my thumb grazing the head, already slick with his pre-cum. "Yes," I whisper, but he stops moving, his finger pressed against my clit.
"No." His eyes examine me so intently that I feel vulnerable under his gaze. "That's not it. You don't want slow and gentle. You've had that before. That would only disappoint you."
I inhale sharply, my hand moving more quickly over his cock.
Luke smiles. "Tell me. Do you want me to pick you up, fuck you on the kitchen table? Put your hands on the kitchen counter and bend you over and take you from behind?" When I bite my lip, Luke chuckles. "That's it, yes?" he asks softly. "You want me to bend you over, fuck you so hard that –"
He stops abruptly, as I sink to my knees on the kitchen floor in front of him. His cock is close to my lips, almost touching, a gossamer thread of precum hanging from the tip. Gripping the base of his cock, I open my mouth and catch it on my tongue.
And I suddenly find my voice. “Yes,” I say. “But first, this is what I want.”
15
Luke
This woman is on her knees in front of me, her mouth open, the tip of my cock an inch away from her as she looks up at me, her eyes hooded and heavy with desire.
If she only knew how absolutely fucking excruciatingly painful it was to not come, just looking at her like this...
Then she wraps her lips around the tip, and it's heaven. It’s pure, warm, velvety heaven as she takes me into her mouth.
And she moans.
She fucking moans, like this is what she's wanted forever.
What she does with her mouth is magic. I push her hair back from her face, threading my fingers through it as she moves up and down on my length, practically swallowing me, moaning with each pass down my cock.
I've had a lot of head in my life, a lot of shitty head from college girls who didn't know jack about giving head.
This is on a whole different level.
I don't want her to stop. She sucks me for I don’t know how long – forever, it feels like. And I want her to keep going, to keep working me with her mouth. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my damned life. I want to let go, to give in, to release everything that I’ve had pent up since I saw her.
When I look down at her, big green eyes looking back up at me, pupils dilated large because she's so turned on, it nearly pushes me over the edge. I almost come in her right then and there. I have to yank her back by her hair with more force than I intend. Autumn makes a sound under her breath.
"Shit, I'm sorry," I say, loosening my grip. But I don't let go. I can't let go. She’s kneeling at my feet while I grip her hair in one hand, the other wrapped around my cock. But I tell myself that I can’t come yet, not like this. It’s crass, classless, the kind of thing that Luke Saint, part of the trashiest damn family in West Bend, does. It’s not something a woman like this does.
"Do it," she says, like she can read my thoughts. Her eyes remain trained on mine, and she arches up, her breasts in the air. "Come on me. Now."
I’m not going to. I’m going to pull her to her feet, roll a condom onto my length, and fuck her the way she should be fucked. But she reaches out, strokes her fingers lightly along my balls, mouthing the words again: Come on me.
Fuck, I can’t help it. The fact that someone like her is begging me to do something so dirty right here in her kitchen is too much.
I do it. I let go all over her tits.
After, she looks up at me, grinning, her expression triumphant.