Page 67 of Love is Blind
And what a blow job it is.
I don’t know how the fuck I got so lucky, but I’m starting to understand why men have faith in God. He may take from us, but he gives too and when he gives, he gives big. I never thought I’d find my religion with a hot, wet mouth wrapped around my cock but here I am.
A believer.
Holding Birdie’s head still, I arch my hips and thrust deep and hard.
Her mouth is my temple.
The back of her throat, my altar.
Her name, the only prayer I know.
A baptism I never knew I needed.
Sweat beads on my forehead. My hair hangs in my face.
I piston my hips and go even deeper. She chokes and it’s a glorious hymn. Control slips from me, signaling it’s time for me to bless her and with a roar, I bow my head. My fingers tighten around her hair and my knees begin to shake as I surrender to her, shooting my load down her throat. She sucks and slurps, swallowing every last drop.
A fucking goddess.
It’s not the intensity of the orgasm that does me in, it’s the realization in the pit of my gut. It’s the warmth that spreads throughout my entire being when she takes me out of her mouth and licks her swollen lips. It’s the flush of her cheeks as she lifts her chin. It’s her eyes—those beautiful light eyes that only see darkness.
My fingers loosen around her hair and I bring my hands to her face.
“You’re doomed,” I rasp.
“I am?” she pants.
“I’m never letting you go.”
She laughs slightly.
“Because I give good head?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me.
A force of habit I’ll learn to break.
“Because you give color to a dark life.”
Chapter Sixteen
Birdie
“There’s a joke here somewhere,”I say thoughtfully as I stretch my arms over my head. Every inch of my body feels as though I’ve run a marathon and some ways, I guess you can say that I have. A sex-a-thon where crossing the finish line never felt so fucking great.
Look at that, I think I just came up with a new sporting event.
Ghost rolls onto his side and lowers his mouth to my nipple. The man is insatiable and totally obsessed with my tits. It’s not a bad thing, per se.
“A joke?” he grumbles, flicking his tongue over the erect bud. I lower my hand and comb my fingers through his hair lazily.
“Yeah, you know the one where a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar?”
He closes his mouth around my nipple and sucks on it. I don’t mean to moan, but I can’t help myself. As worn and sore as I am, it feels too good.
He opens his mouth and speaks against my breast.
