A single swipe of my tongue, and I’ve almost undone him.
My poor, pent-up boy.
I shift on my knees. My nipples are chaffing, rock hard underneath my dress. My blood is hot, and there’s a puddle in my panties, but I can’t be bothered with that now. Not when I’m far too absorbed in the task at hand. I’ve spent the past four months getting a fuckingPhDin Dorian’s body language, so I already know each one of his pain and pleasure points. Holding him in place, I savor the red, swollen head of his cock. I tease him against the puffy swell of my lips, and give small, worship licks to that angry vein right underneath the tip of him.
He moans again—those unrestrained, deep moans I know so well. I love how vocal he is—like he isn’t afraid to want. I wrap my lips around the head of him and suck him downinto my mouth. He’s big, so big, and it’s been—well—over a year since I’ve done this. So I give myself grace and go slowly, taking him in bit by bit.
It doesn’t matter how slow I go, though. He’s running too hot, already furiously close, I can tell by the way he throbs and pulses with each pass of my lips. I slide myself up and down, familiarizing myself with his size, and then I go for it, pushing down as far as I can take him. But there’sso muchof him, and even as I relax my throat, opening to him and exhaling through my nose, there’s still enough left to wrap my hand around the base of him and grip.
I forgot how much I like this. I forgot how much I really, genuinelylikesucking dick.
I let myself enjoy him. I slide myself up and down him, licking and sucking, teasing and stroking. He’s noisy at first, moaning and swearing, words likeBossandDovepouring from his lips. But I know he’s far gone when he suddenly stills. I rest my hand to his abdomen and I can feel the muscles there, hard and clenched. His jaw is tight. He’s breathing through his teeth in short, controlled breaths. Trying so, so hard to be a good boy for me.
Until he breaks.
“Boss,” he warns, his voice heavy and thick as velvet. “I’m close.”
“Mmhm,” I tell him, not letting up. “Give it to me.” I bob my head faster, suck harder, giving him no choice but to unravel.
He moans and obeys, unleashing down my throat. I feel him swell, twitch, and then there’s that lovely hit of salt that fills my mouth so quickly my nose and eyes burn. I swallow him down, flexing my throat around him, gulping as quickly as I can, even as I feel some spill over the edge of my lips.
I start to pull back, but?—
Dorian’s fingers suddenly thread through my hair and grip.
The belt hangs uselessly around one wrist. Now, he’s got a fistful of my hair in his hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is a growl. Low. Dark. Different. He cups the back of my head, shoving me back down his cock.
I choke.
Spit slides down my cheek. I inhale sharply through my nose, mouth and throat stuffed, full ofhim. He grinds his hips against my face, fucking my throat, still rock hard, and it sends a surge through me.
He’s saying something. I can’t hear him, I’m too high. My brain can’t even process the words until he tightens his grip on my hair and pulls out from my mouth, leaving me with an empty pop.
My face feels wet and sticky. I gulp in a breath. It’s the cleanest air I’ve ever tasted.
“Dove. Give me your eyes.” I do. He’s looking down at me—something like concern etched on his expression. “Are you good?”
I get out the only words I can manage, my voice rasping with it: “More, please.”
Something turns in his expression, like twisting a key. His fingers tighten at the back of my head, locking in. He grips his cock and pushes it back into my open, waiting mouth. “Good. Because I’m not finished with you.”
My brain completely shuts off. Bliss rockets through me as I let myself be used in a way I haven’t in so long, and it feelsso goddamn goodthat my cunt clenches, tightens, and pulses. I whimper, clutching his hips as he rides out his pleasure against my messy, dripping face and I feel my own orgasm flood my panties—this agonizing, ache that I’ve never felt before, coming without even being touched, without any friction, just from the fuckingjoyof this man’s cock in my throat…
I don’t know how he has anything left—I don’t know how much a single man can give—but he gives it to me. All of it. Anything I ask for, he’ll give me. I know that now. He pumps into my face—brutal, angry—my breath coming in clipped, short inhales through my nose, my chest tight from the lack of oxygen, my head spinning. I cry out, my scream muffled, my face trapped against his pelvis, as I throb. It’s so good, I’m crying.He lets me fall apart, his grip in my hair keeping my body upright, as he moans—almost a pained sound—and pours another mouthful of salt into me.
I don’t know how long I’m there, sucking like my life depends on it. But gently, he uses his thumb to unhook my jaw and pulls himself from me, leaving me with an empty pop. My face feels wet and sticky. I gulp in a breath.
He tucks away then kneels down in front of me.
We’re on the same level now. His eyes are so blue. Electric. Humming. “Did you swallow?”
I shake my head. My mouth is full, otherwise I’d tell him:you didn’t give me permission,and I’m a good girl.
He presses his thumb to my bottom lip. “Give it to me.”
We kiss. My tongue tangles with his, and I swap his pleasure into his mouth. He drinks from me, taking it, and when his tongue returns to my mouth, we taste the same. I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
