Taking the quilt, I throw it back so he’s fully exposed and not lacking oxygen. “Don’t think about an elephant. Think about me,” I say, breathing in and out in a panic as I realize what’s about to happen. His tongue traces lazy circles where my leg joins my body. “And whatever you do, do not stop doing that,” I moan.
Smith finally moves his head where I want it. My own head, which feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, swims in sheer bliss. His mouth is warm, and his fingers stroke me deftly, slipping inside to rub just the right spot, the place most men don’t even know exists. I moan out as the sensations—the connection—envelop every nerve ending. Smith is aggressive in his maneuvers, pushing my legs out to give himself better access, holding my hips down when I try to arch my back.
Knowing I won’t be able to hold out much longer, I give in completely, as if I had a choice, and let myself grab his hair and ride the sensations. The noises coming out of Smith cause a riot of emotions. The dominant one being lust. There’s no calmness or leisurely pleasuring happening. It’s animalistic, a complete loss of control. I guide his head into me when I feel him slip another finger inside. He strokes a few more times, without halting his flicking tongue, and I lose it. The orgasm hits my body in waves, from my tingling thighs to the warm flush of pleasure cascading over every square inch of skin on my body. The waves go on and on, my muscles tense, and my eyes close tight.
When Smith is sure I’m finished, he rests his chin on my lower stomach but doesn’t remove his massive hands from my thighs. The heat from his palms keeps me in a fog of bliss, unsure if more is coming. “And that is how it’s done,” I say, sighing. I haven’t had an orgasm in months. I haven’t had an orgasm that strong and body-consuming in my lifetime. He’s smiling at me, his eyes lazily wandering over my face and exposed stomach. “I still can’t catch my breath. No elephants in this room, huh?”
He kisses the flat plane of the skin stretched across my hip bones. “Who needs to breathe when you can have orgasms?” Smith smiles. It’s predatory and full of promise. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of doing that? Of hearing your screams, seeing your face, knowing I’m responsible for making you feel good, tasting your sweet pussy?” He shakes his head and licks a trail from my stomach back down between my legs. He presses a soft kiss at my wet entrance. “Feeling you clench in release around my fingers while I envision it being my dick instead?”
I take a deep breath as my muscles contract from his mouth. “Probably as long as I’ve dreamed about reciprocating the favor?” I ask.
He stops kissing and fingering me. “You mean sucking me off?” Smith’s gaze flicks up to meet mine, and I can tell it’s painful for him to take his attention away from where he really wants it.
“Or a blow job. Your dick in my warm, wet mouth,” I say. Tracing my lips with my thumb, I continue. “My lips wrapping around you as I lick and suck, taking you all the way back into my throat until you come.” I smirk. My confidence is bolstered by the adrenaline and the pure power I feel being in his presence. He continuesstaring, a blank, unreadable expression playing across his features. “Unless you don’t want that,” I amend.
Smith doesn’t take his eyes off my mouth as I speak. I’m unable to read his feelings on the subject and regret speaking in such a manner. He started the dirty talk, so I assumed it would be okay for me to reciprocate. “That’s not your thing. It’s okay. Sorry for mentioning it.” I blush every shade of red, and I’m tan. I try to lean up, but he places a hand on my stomach to hold me in place.
“She’s never done that,” Smith says, voice so low I almost don’t make out the words. “I’ve never had a blow job. Don’t be sorry for mentioning it. I’m celebrating internally. I needed a moment to process what you said.”
He’s joking. He has to be. A full-grown man who looks like Smith gets blow jobs whenever he wants. He told me Megan was the only woman he’s ever been with. I believed it, but I also assumed their sex life was top-notch. Look at her. Look at him. I never saw this coming. Not by a long shot. “Don’t joke right now, Smith.” My eyes are wide, confused.
“Say my name again,” he growls.
I grin. “Smith.”
Leaning up on his knees, he pulls down his black boxer briefs. His erection springs free, and I can’t take my eyes off it. I haven’t seen such anatomy in too long, and I’ve never seen Smith’s. Envisioning it was my favorite game. Feeling it through his pants, pressing against my stomach when he hugged me, gave me apretty good idea what he was packing, but it’s nothing like seeing it in the flesh right now. It’s long, a rigid nine or ten inches, with a girth much wider than I’ve ever encountered in my sheltered years. Nothing compared to Roarke. I have no comparison. It’s beautiful.
When I finally pull my gaze up to his eyes, he bites his bottom lip. “One thing on my body didn’t get fucked up,” he says. “Still game to show me the ropes?” he asks. He lifts and lowers his thick, broad shoulders.
I sigh. The butterflies in my stomach threaten to rise into my throat. It’s an odd sensation. A little bit of stage fright mixes with absolute passion. I’ve never been a fan of blow jobs, honestly. It was something I had to do because men like them, and it’s how you return the favor. Right now my mouth is watering for Smith. I want to taste him. I want to own this first—something that no one else can say. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” I say, my gaze still taking in the lower half of his body. “Well,” I stutter.
With his hands perched on his hips, he says, “Finish that thought, please.”
His command draws my gaze up to meet his. Smith’s warm voice is gritty with desire. It twists my insides into knots. “It wasn’t really a thought,” I reply. Taking his hand, I guide it back to my core. “It’s more of a given. I want to have sex with you.”
Smith sucks in a breath, bites his lower lip, and closes his eyes. His eyebrows knit together. He’s holdinghimself back. It’s a look I’m not familiar with. In my previous relationship, holding back wasn’t ever on the agenda. Roarke took from me exactly what he wanted regardless of how I felt.
“We aren’t in the living room right now, so it’s obviously not on the agenda,” I say. I scoot forward to give him better access and tentatively reach for his hard-on. I watch as he swallows hard and then raises his other hand to my face, and I lean into it.
“All this time, I’ve gotten to know everything about you on the inside. The outside was a tightly held treasure of a mystery. The promise of the eighth wonder of the world. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time,” Smith growls. My eyes flutter closed for a brief moment as his fingers play me like his favorite instrument. “It’s not a disappointment. In case you’re curious. Every curve,” Smith whispers, dragging the hand from my cheek down my neck and trailing over the swell of my breast. “Every beauty mark.” The tip of his finger grazes the spot right next to my belly button. “Every single line, dip, and hair on your entire body.” He leans in and kisses me. A breath-stealing kiss. A life-altering kiss. Into my ear, he says, “Is my favorite memory.”
“No more memories. Just now. Okay?” I say against his lips. “Our future,” I promise.
He agrees with a megawatt smile and just the right words again. My heart flutters like the wings of a bird. This takes courage—a facet of my personality that’sburied deeply inside somewhere that hasn’t been accessed for years. Since I was a little girl and hugging my knees and praying for a miracle. My miracle happened. Just later than expected.
“Well, this one last thing can go into memory. If you think it worthy enough,” I reply.
Smith smirks as I lean over and push his boxer briefs further down his sculpted thighs. I take him into my mouth and relish in the hiss of air that leaves his mouth when I slide him in deeply. He swears. Every curse word in the book. Words I’ve never heard before pass his lips. For a man who has never received oral sex, he finds his role quickly. One hand is wrapped around my hair and the other is pushing the back of my neck in the fast rhythm that I quickly realize he enjoys most.
My hand is tired, and my jaw feels like it may never shut again, but the pressure is on to give him the best first of his life. It’s all I can give him at the moment, and it feels glorious. Smith tells me a few times to slow down because he wants to last a while longer, wants to feel my wet mouth around him longer. I know it won’t take much longer when the grip on my hair tightens. I keep my hand pumping and take him to the back of my throat. He comes in several hot, long bursts down my throat. On the last jerk, he falls back into the kneeling position.
I keep my mouth latched around him until I’m sure he’s finished and swallow the remnants. His grip loosens on my hair and neck. Taking a deep breath, I sit up againinto the kneeling position. “Finish your thoughts, please,” I say, taking his words.
“Best orgasm of my life. You swallowed it,” he says, eyes wide.
I smile. “What did you think I would do with it?”
“Spit it all over my body and break out into a thankless argument about how female ejaculation isn’t real,” he replies.
