Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I’ve never touched a man like this before him. I only know what I like. I guess I should be grateful that he seems to enjoy me touching him in the same way I enjoy touching myself.
It could be the steam, the connotation that water has the ability to wash away sin, but for some reason, I feel safe in this small area with him. It’s as if nothing bad or wrong can touch us right now. I don’t notice guilt trying to wrap its talons around my throat, but that makes me notice the odd absence of it, which has the power to bring on a wave of emotions I just don’t want to face right now.
“Kiss me,” I plead, drawing his eyes from my stroking hand to my mouth.
His smile is slow, his pink tongue tracing the lower curve of his mouth, and I suddenly have to know exactly how it feels. I don’t ask permission or hesitate to lean forward and swipe my tongue over his lips.
His breath is warm on my mouth, and even with the heat of the water rushing down my back, a wave of gooseflesh travels down my spine, my spent cock threatening to get hard all over again.
I’ll imagine him on his knees, my cock buried in his throat, for the rest of my life. It paled in comparison to the one blow job I got in the Marines. I get the distinct feeling that it won’t carry the same guilt I felt the day after that one either.
“You’re going to make me come,” Drake says, his words spoken into my neck, his fingers clinging to my back as he rolls his hips to glide his shaft along my palm.
“That’s kind of the point, right?” I manage, my cock already back at full attention.
A hand job seems safe. Despite him getting to his knees in front of me, I can’t seem to garner the courage to do the same for him. It has more to do with a fear of doing it wrong than anything else. I can bet that the man has had hundreds of top-notch blow jobs, and I don’t know if I would survive giving him a bad one.
“Jesus,” he groans. “Just a little tighter.”
I clench my fist, his shaft thick and hot in my hand. I feel the first jerk of his orgasm. The second comes with the spurt of warmth on my thigh, and I’m unable to resist the urge to pull back enough to watch as he paints my skin with his release.
When it’s over, he pants as if he couldn’t manage a breath the entire time he was orgasming.
I feel the appreciation in his touch as he swipes his fingers over the mess he made on my skin.
I frown in disappointment when he traces my erect cock with his cum-coated finger rather than lifting it to my mouth.
This is something I’ve discovered with him—my enjoyment of the taste of cum, be it his or my own. I never once crossed that line while alone or with the one guy I let myself experiment with before. It’s not something I’ve done since on my own, but I long for it every time I’m with him.
“Feel good?” he asks, his hand now stroking the length of me.
“So good,” I answer honestly.
His fingers travel and explore. Maybe it was the way that I teased his sac that somehow gave him permission to touch mine, but I’m enjoying it all way too much. So much so that I want to lift my leg to give him better access but doing so would be too much of a confession.
It’s not that what he’s doing doesn’t feel good, because it has the power to make my eyes roll back in my head, but there’s this voice inside of me, reminding me that there’s so much more he could do.
“This okay?” he asks, after another handful of strokes down my shaft.
“Yes,” I moan when his finger dips into the crevice behind my balls.
In the next breath, he’s back down, crouching in front of me. I have to wonder if this was his plan all along, to get me off quickly so then he could play with me more the second time around.
“You have the prettiest cock,” he whispers.
“Don’t make fun of me,” I say, mildly annoyed that he’d do such a thing when I’m so open and vulnerable to him right now.
He looks up, his olive-colored eyes staring back at me. “Not making fun at all. It’s fucking perfect.”
I could never open my mouth to say something like that, but I appreciate his ability to.
My mouth hangs open when he traces that seam once again behind my balls.
I clench my jaw when he pulls away, giving me the slightest brush of what I need before disappearing.