“What if that’s what I want?”
He leans up, and then stands at the foot of my bed. He towers over me and takes up the majority of the space in my bedroom. Leaning up on my elbows, I recognize the blood is rushing around my body in a manic manor, all concentrating at my core. Tahoe kissed a girl and awakened a woman. One that lusts after his sculpted body and whatever he has below the belt. His jeans slide off and pool around his feet. No underwear. That answers my question about boxers or briefs. I’ve seen him in a speedo so I’m not violently shocked by the size of his package, but I admit it’s still stunning, cutting the air in between our bodies, standing straight out in front of him.
Before I can check my emotions, one of my hands flies to cover my mouth as I wide-eyed gape at his manhood. “Oh,” I say around my hand. “That’s big.”
Tahoe laughs. “Big, huh? You know how to stroke a man’s ego.”
I swallow once and let my hand fall. Shaking my head, I say, “I am not stroking your ego, Holiday. It’s enormous,” I exclaim. Then the horrific truth about my virtue flashes in my mine. “Is, is, that a normal size?”
Stepping out of his jeans, he walks toward me, chuckling. “I like this game. Keep going,” he remarks. “Tell me what you want to do with my huge dick.” I’m not sure if it’s possible, but it looks like every single muscle on his body is flexed. The dropped pendant lights in my room shine from above, highlighting every ripple and vein on his body. He’s magnificent.
I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and look up at him. “Tell me what you want me to do with it.”
He flashes a half grin. “You wanted to touch it,” Tahoe says.
Tentatively, I reach out a hand and palm it in my hand. “I can’t even touch my fingers,” I say, surprising even myself.
“Maybe you have small hands,” he replies, holding up one of his palms. With my free hand, I press it against his big one. Mine is small compared to his, but that doesn’t say much given his size.
I stroke his shaft in front of me as he watches every move I make, though he does alternate his gaze to my naked body, and my face every so often. “That feels good,” he says, closing his eyes for a beat or two.
Thank God, I think. “Should I put my mouth on it now?”
A gentle smile appears, but he keeps his eyes closed. “You never have to ask permission to put my dick in your mouth. That’s a firm rule. Consider it in the definition,” he says, sighing.
I let my hand do most of the work, and use my tongue to graze the head, the tiny hole with clear liquid spilling out. It tastes salty, but not really a describable flavor. I hide a grimace.
Tahoe sways on his feet. “Lay down on the bed,” I tell him, pausing my sucking.
“I want to come standing,” he replies. “It feels good this way.”
Is this something I should know? I start to panic and immediately throw myself back in to the act. With my pace steady, it can’t possibly take that long. He made me orgasm in minutes. And easily.But he’s perfect, Caroline.I’m not. So I work harder, letting his hand on my head guide me.
When I feel like my mouth is about to fall off of my face he announces he’s about to come. “Just like that. Keep doing that,” he says, the words broken in gasps.
Then, when I should be expecting it, he comes in my mouth. The strange salty flavor at the start stings my tongue in a mass flood I’m not sure what to do with. My gag reflex won’t let me swallow, but my pride won’t let me spit, so I hold him in my mouth, with the come.
His hands stroke my hair softly, and he pulls my head away. I’d tell him not to if I didn’t have a wad of hot garbage in my mouth, so I suck it all in to avoid dripping anything anywhere.
Sighing, he tilts my head up to look at him. He’s wearing a sleepy, satisfied grin. “Swallow or spit?” he asks, confused. God, is there an option? Shit. A story Shirley once told me erodes my brain, and I do what she did. I push the gelatinous load to the back of my throat and swallow it down. It’s warm sliding down my throat and maybe I keep a disgusted look off my face, but I can’t help the shudder.
Tahoe falls on the bed, pulling me with him. “I never would have pegged you as a swallow girl,” he remarks, kissing me on the forehead.
“I’m, ah, usually not,” I tell him. “Guess I was in the moment.”
“You don’t like giving blow jobs?” he says, it’s less of a question and more of an observation. Maybe I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.
I clear my throat and get a taste of the remnants. “It tastes weird. I like it.”
He laughs. “Liar. It’s fine. I’d rather eat you out anyways. Can I do it again?”
Maybe that will take my mind off the most embarrassing blow job of all time. “I’ll never say no to that,” I quote him.
Then, he’s on me.
****
When I wake in the morning, Tahoe is gone—the other side of the bed faintly warm. He left a note on my pillow using male chicken scratch. It says three, reassuring words.You are perfect. I smile like a lunatic and hug the crumbled paper to my chest, and then see words written on the back,because I know you won’t check your phone. Back in the real world, I have a job, and friends counting on me. I grab the cell phone from my night stand drawer and fly into the bathroom to crank on the hot water in the shower.
