Mister O

And so do I. I’m turned on beyond anything I’ve ever experienced as I kiss her sweet, hot center. I swear I’m drinking her, lapping her wetness, and she’s all over me. She’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever had, and she gets me even higher as her fingers slide into my hair. She curls them tightly around my head, holding on.

She floods my tongue, and lust pounds mercilessly in my body as I eat her. Her taste is addictive. She’s better, so much infinitely better than she was in my dirty dreams. She’s all real, all wet, all heat as she rocks against my face. She grips me tighter, thrusts harder, and I lick, suck, kiss, and devour her delicious *.

I can tell she’s almost there. I can tell by the way her legs fall open. By how much wetter she gets with each stroke of my tongue. By those wild sounds falling from her mouth. It takes all of my strength to pull away for a second to remind her. “Tell me. Tell me what you like,” I growl, then return to her.

That’s when she lets go. She clutches my hair, wraps her legs tightly around my neck, and fucks, and fucks, and fucks. “I’m going to fuck your face,” she cries out. As soon as those filthy words fall from her lips, she’s there. “Oh God, I’m going to come so hard on you.”

And she does, on my lips, my tongue, my mouth, my jaw. My face is just buried in her as she pulses around me, so wet, so crazed, and, I hope, so fucking satisfied.

That about describes me to a T, too. So fucking satisfied, especially as I watch her come down from her high. Her lips part, her breath is fast, and she drags one hand through her hair, the other over those gorgeous tits. This is an image I could jack off to over and over—Harper, high on my mouth, not an ounce of self-consciousness as she touches herself while floating down.

Come to think of it, I take a mental snapshot. I’m totally going to draw this image later. Don’t judge. I’ve only been obsessed with capturing a woman’s O face since, well, forever. And hers is like the holy grail.

So I decide to make it a double. Without giving her a chance to protest—not that she would—my lips are on her again, and just like that, she’s moaning, groaning, and writhing into me once more, flying into another orgasm in mere minutes. Judging from her wild sounds and her crazed cries, this one was just as good as the last. When I look up at her, she seems lost in a world of bliss.

Excellent.

I press my lips to her thigh, giving her a soft, gentle kiss, then I toe off my shoes and join her on the couch, lifting her feet onto it so we’re lying down, tangled up together. I pull her close to me, my arm wrapped around her as she breathes hard. “I think I’m going to call you Princess Come-A-Lot now. That work for you?”

She flashes me a woozy smile. “As long as you keep earning the right to call me that.”

I pretend to doff a top hat. “I am dedicated to your service.” Tugging her closer, I kiss her temple. “Wait. You don’t mind that I kissed you after I did that? I’m kind of covered in you right now.”

A light laugh falls from her lips. “I pretty much gripped your face and locked your head in a vise until I came all over your beard, and you think I mind that you’re kissing me?”

“When you put it like that . . .”

She shifts in my arms, then her eyes darken. “Kiss me again,” she whispers, low and dirty.

I oblige, all too happy to have my lips anywhere on her. I groan as she takes control of the kiss, her lips hunting me, her tongue searching my mouth. She is ravenous, and she kisses me like I’m her dinner, and holy fuck, it makes me delirious. Her hands are on my shoulders, and she pins me, pressing her deliciously naked body to my side. Her skin is so warm, and her lips are so greedy. Her hand slinks down my chest, her nails running through the hair on my pecs, and in seconds her hand is on my jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, and scooting them down.

I’m helpless to resist. Not that I want to, mind you. Not the fuck at all. I just can’t. Because this girl is steering the ship. She shoves my jeans to my knees then off. In a heartbeat she breaks the kiss and stares at me stretched out on her couch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her tone an accusation.

“What?” I ask, confused. “Tell you what?”

She curls her soft fingers around my hard shaft, and I hiss out a breath. “Fuck,” I groan, as she touches my dick.

“That you were packing this kind of heat,” she says, grinning like the very naughty girl she is.

What can I say? I’ve never had any complaints about the size of the machinery; I’m just glad Harper likes what’s under the hood. “Whew. I thought you were . . . I don’t know . . . pissed about something.”

She shakes her head in an exaggerated fashion as she strokes me. “Not pissed. Try excited about something.” She runs her hand up and down my cock. “Excited about riding you.”

A shudder wracks my body, and I grab her face, thread my hand in her hair. “You don’t need lessons in anything. You say these wildly dirty things that turn me on.” I tip my forehead to my cock, thick in her hand. “Feel that. Do you feel how hard I get when you say that stuff?”