I grimace, but I don’t spit it out.
I take it, determined.
When he pulls it free, a smear of saliva trails between the soap and my lips.
I’m panting. Tears mixed with shower spray. Sinuses burning. Chest heaving.
And still... I want more. I want him. To forgive me. Love me.
Just then, he shoves his cock deep into my mouth.
No gentleness. No grace.
Just punishment.
Just Grayson.
When he retracts it, I can’t help myself. Too drunk onhim. I claw for more.
He fights a smile, but I catch it, the corner of his mouth lifting before he squeezes his eyes shut.
He mumbles, “The dadless wonder begs for more.” It’s not disgust. It’s appreciation.
He’s pleased.
I’m doing it!
But his hand fists my hair, yanking my head back. Slower this time, he feeds me his cock. Inch by inch. No softness. Just discipline.
My breath cuts off. The soap still stings my tongue and throat, bitter as his length forces it deeper. It burns going down.
He grunts.
“That’s my dumb girl. Cross your eyes and clean my cock.”
Cross my eyes?
I hesitate, but his fingers grip at my roots tighter. His pull causes me to quickly straighten, look up, and indeed, cross my eyes.
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smirk. Just pats my wet cheek like I’m his pet. This time, he keeps his voice too soft for me to hear, except I do, as he murmurs, “Fuck.Too damn perfect.”
Oh! I’m not done impressing him!
His words fuel me. I bob my head, desperate to please, to prove I’ve learned. Worthy. I wrap my lips tight and swallow him down as far as I can. I moan for him. I work for him. And I keep my eyes crossed every time I look up at him.
His palm braces against the tile above me. His hips stutter. Eyes half-lidded. Breathing ragged.
I did that, and I love it.
Then comes the rules, and this time, he grips my head with both hands.
“No more drinking.”
A thrust.
“No more bars.”
Another thrust.
