I’m on an exploration of this beautiful dick. Good God, it’s like one of those hot, sunny days where you want your Popsicle to last forever. I’ve never wanted to please him more than I do now. I don’t care how wet I am, or how much I want to feel him inside of me; this is all about him. His pleasure. His relief. Him. Just him.
I barely take in the tip. I could never take him in all the way before; there’s no way I can now. He’s so much bigger. So thick and so hard. I wrap my hand around the base and inhale his scent. Relaxing the muscles in my jaw, I work my way down, taking in more and more, my movements syncing with the up and down gliding of my hand. My tongue swirls around, tasting his erotic flavor.
“Fuck, baby. So damn good. I want to see you,” he grits out, grabbing two handfuls of my hair.
He’s panting; his eyes are so dark, the darkest I have ever seen them, but there’s a spark beneath those hooded lids. I squeeze his balls with my other hand. Rolling them, gently caressing.
“I… Hell!” Cain yells out, his head flopping back against his chair.
I know he’s close just by the way he’s twitching in my mouth. His moans become mine. My desire to taste him takes over. Small whimpers of craving escape from my throat. I suck harder, lick more. His balls tighten in my hand.
And then I taste him. His cum. His sexiness. It tastes like him. I swallow it all, licking my way up to the tip and dipping my tongue into the small hole. My hand releases his balls while the other stays firm around the base of his shaft. His eyes open, gazing down into mine. A smug smile tugs on his lips.
“Fucking hell. Am I in heaven? I must be. That mouth of yours is heaven. I’m so ready to go again.”
My brows shoot up.
“Really?”
Cain releases his grip on my hair, smoothing it out, then he stands up and tugs his briefs and jeans on, leaving them hanging open. Before I know what’s happening, he lifts me up under my arms and throws me over his shoulder. I squeal, this time happy to have a prime view of his tight, sexy ass. I know now I can grab it and squeeze it. Do any damn thing I want to do to it. It’s mine!
He’s on a mission. In four long strides, we are at the end of the bar and I’m flipped over onto my back with my legs dangling over the edge and my hands pinned over the top of my head. The most excruciating agony develops between my legs. I could scream.
“Spread those legs, baby,” his throaty voice growls.
I don’t even think about it. I scoot my body up, the cool, glossy surface of the bar grazing my overheated skin. I spread for him, planting my feet onto the wooden surface. He takes a few moments to enjoy the view, running his hands up my legs until he hits my thighs. He presses them gently to open me wider.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he goes around the bar.
He reaches underneath, then lifts up a bottle of tequila along with two shot glasses.
“Grabbing this, and these.”
“Tequila?”
“They say it makes your clothes come off.”
I scoff.
“You don’t need that to make my clothes come off.”
“Oh, but I do,” he insists, twisting off the cap and filling the two glasses. “You see, my love, we’re about to have our own little party. Take your top off, but leave that lacy red bra on.”
He lifts one of the glasses to his mouth and drains it, his eyes never leaving my face as I sit up and pull my top over my head, tossing it behind me.
“Shit. You have the nicest tits. They’re beckoning me to lick them.”
He guides me back by placing his hand on the back of my head until I’m laying down again. My chest heaves, the ache between my legs growing more intense by the second.
“Do you like tequila?” he asks, raising the second shot glass. I watch him, mesmerized, as he places the shot glass right above the swell of my breasts.
“I love tequila,” I say breathlessly.
“Me too. Now don’t move. No matter what I do, stay still. Understand?”