He laughs. “Ain’t gonna give it up, are you?”
I shake my head, chin and hair against his shoulders. “No. I want to know. I want to give you your orgasm. I do not mind a mess.”
He groans. “We’re in a hotel, access to clean running water and a shower and washcloths, babe, I’ll let you play with me all fuckin’ night. Not out here when the nearest water is a stream of ice melt or a nasty old well pump.”
I peek around him—his cock is hard as ever, standing nearly straight up. I grab it.
“Shit, woman.” He gusts a sigh, head hanging, shoulders heaving.
I caress him, slowly. “Please.”
He groans. Slumps, knees buckling, hunching over. “Goddammit, Anj.” It’s a breath, a whisper. “Your hand is so fuckin’ small, so soft. The way you touch me…fuck.”
I want to use both hands, so I duck under his arm and stand in front of him. Clutch him in both hands, stroke down and twist both hands in opposing directions. He groans again, wordlessly, knees buckling again.
“Fuck,” he hisses, then repeats it through gritted teeth. “Fuck!”
I continue this, both hands moving together, twisting, caressing slowly.
“Anj…” he growls. “Faster.”
I do as he commands, speeding my touch. Now, he tilts his hips, thrusting into my touch.
“Move.” He snaps this. “One side or the other.”
I move to his side, lean against him, using only one hand, now. I snake the other around his back—and then decide I want to touch more of him, so I cup his backside. For some reason, my hand on his bottom makes him snarl like a beast. I like this, that I can make him turn so feral, so I do both. Touch his cock and touch his bottom.
“Point…” he starts, but his knees give out even as he thrusts hard into my hand. Tries again, growling each word low, rough. “Point it away.”
I angle it away from him.
“Faster,” he orders. “Fast as you can.”
I move my hand on him as fast as I can, and he lifts up onto his toes, knees dipping, shoulders hunched forward, hips thrusting.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans. “Gonna come, Anj. Oh fuck, I’m coming.”
I feel him pulse in my fist, throbbing. He jerks, shoving hard, thrusting into my hand. I keep going, hard and fast. I watch in rapt fascination as he wraps his arm around the tree, slumping his weight against it. And then…
Something streams out of him. Spurts from the tip, a white liquid arcing away in a stream. Again, and again, as my hand blurs on him.
Curious, I rub my thumb over the tip, smearing the substance—it is warm, thick, and sticky.
“Fuck, Anj.Fuck,” he groans, his voice almost broken, very ragged.
I wish I could say what possesses me. Curiosity, more than anything. A logic that tells me if he can put his mouth on me and make me orgasm, if he can taste me and clearly seemed to enjoy it…
Then I can do the same.
So, I sink to my knees and before I can think twice about my actions, I put his cock into my mouth. It is a very large thing, his cock, very thick. I taste him immediately, skin and salt. Something else—his orgasm fluid, a taste which is like mine on his lips, salty, tangy, a very many different subtleties of flavor. Strange, but not bad. Good, even.
I lick against the little slit, with my mouth around the plump, round head part of his cock.
“Fuck me, Anjalee—goddammit—” he hisses. “Fuck!”
His hips thrust, and suddenly more of his cock fills my mouth, surprising me, moving through my lips and stretching my jaws wide. I make a soft sound of shock, but I look up and he is staring at me, brows furrowed, jaw hanging open yet tensed—the surprised, incredulous pleasure on his face is rewarding to me.
Then I taste that liquid, and I feel it leave the tip of him, flooding my mouth. I swirl it on my tongue, tasting it—strange and unfamiliar, but I find I quite like it.
