Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
More than ready, Ansel curled his fingers around the hem of Fitch’s briefs and drew them down, slowly exposing Fitch’s package. Damn. What a beauty. He hummed in appreciation and smiled when the shaft twitched. It was about seven inches long and just as thick as Ansel had guessed. He hoped he had lube. If he didn’t, he was desperate enough to scrounge the kitchen for oil or something.
He rubbed his hands up Fitch’s thick, hairy thighs and met his burning gaze before licking the beautiful cock from root to tip. Oh, yes, now that was a treat. Ansel closed his eyes in pleasure as he swirled his tongue around the crown. In the dark, his other senses heightened to exaggerated levels. Fitch’s ragged breaths and muttered groans sparked Ansel’s own burning desire. The rough graze of hair under his palms made him think of virility and domination.
Submission wasn’t his kink. He was versatile and bossy, but his partners typically assumed control because of Ansel’s rather slim figure and feminine appearance. He was slutty enough not to care—most of the time. But for Fitch, he could go ass up, cheeks spread, and happily die in surrender, just to feel those magnificent muscles overpowering him.
His body shook with the visual, and he quickly unfastened his own pants with one hand while he gripped the girth of Fitch’s member in his other.
“Oh, fuck,” Fitch moaned when Ansel sucked hard enough for his cheeks to hollow.
He managed to pry his own dick out of the entrapment of denim and lace and squeezed hard. Good thing he was fucking coordinated after years of practice—jerking two cocks at once took some major concentration. With all his blood rushing south and his mouth full of cock, it was hard enough to breathe, let alone follow the choreography of strokes. Still, even with all his practice, he faltered when Fitch brushed hair out of his face.
The touch was so goddamn gentle Ansel tipped his head toward it, seeking more. He opened his eyes and looked up. Fitch’s gaze was filled with awe. Yeah, that was pretty damn satisfying—made him feel like a fucking rock star. Could he help it if his heart took a flying leap toward insanity in that moment? Best to forget the stupid thing even existed.
Keeping the eye contact, he teased his tongue into Fitch’s slit, gathering the purest essence on his tongue. He raked his fingers over the taut skin covering Fitch’s hips, reveling in the shiver of reaction. It was potent enough to overwhelm him. His balls pulled up, ready to shoot.
To regain his control, he stopped to ask, “How quick is your recovery time?”
Fitch blinked at him. “What?”
Just to tease, Ansel stroked the thickness in his hand, saliva making it nice and sloppy. Fitch grunted.
“How fast can you get it up again?”
Fitch lowered his lashes again. “I don’t know, ten minutes or so, why?”
“I am dying for you to come down my throat, but not if it means I can’t feel you pounding my ass as soon as possible.”
The hand that was previously resting gently on the back of his skull suddenly tightened into a fist and Fitch cursed. His cock twitched in Ansel’s hold. All muscle control in Fitch’s neck seemed to disappear. His head fell back and his hips thrust forward.
“Please, God yes. Fucking do it,” Fitch said.
Ansel’s smile widened. It was a heady feeling, making a man like Fitch surrender.
Reveling in the grip in his hair and the panting moans, he descended on Fitch’s cock until it hit the back of his throat. He worked it up and down, swirling his tongue around the veins, flicking the lip and small opening where the heaviest flavor leaked. Just when Fitch’s groans were about to reach the high note, he swallowed the entire length again. His throat muscles closing over and over again, and every time, Fitch’s whole body shuddered.
The big man cursed, endlessly. His entire body tensed, and his face crushed into a mask of painful bliss.
Ansel lingered, tongue swirling, and held his breath until his lungs began to burn and his vision grayed. Finally, Fitch roared, doubled over, and spurted his release down the back of Ansel’s throat.
Chapter Twelve
“Holy fuck,” Fitch said. Best blow job ever. And not for one second had he thought about Ansel’s gender as anything other than a blessing. Because no woman had ever sucked him that hard, that deep, before. Christ. He tried to catch his breath, but his whole body shook like a goddamn earthquake.
Ansel, still on his knees, nuzzled into Fitch’s bare hip and moaned.
“Just give me a second,” Ansel said, his voice strained.
Fitch opened his eyes. He’d been so turned on he’d lost all control. Had he pushed too deep? Had he hurt him? He tipped Ansel’s head back and stopped short. Ansel was stroking his own shaft.