Page 92 of Rookie Recovery

“Now,” I murmured against his still mouth. “I’m going to touch you.”

“Please,“ he moaned. My fingers slipped the button of his jeans, tugged the zipper down over the hard bulge of his cock.

Do you want to touch me, Kitty?

Yes. I did. And I would.

I brushed my fingers down the outside of his underwear, the cloth damp under my thumb as I slid it down over the head of his cock.

“Oh, fuck,“ he groaned, in that same desperate little voice I’d first heard through the door of the bathroom. And I couldn’t—fuck. My hand flattened down over that firm cock, cupping him through the cloth. Like he’d done to himself that day.

It was my turn to touch.

I slid my hand down the line of his cock, reveling in the feel of him against my fingers, watching the flutter of his lashes as his head tilted. He felt so good—right. Perfect. Just like I’d imagined, and yet a thousand times better.

He bit his bottom lip and arched against me, bucking his hips to drag his cock over my fingers. Trying to claim friction I hadn’t given. Because he wanted me, like I wanted him.

I couldn’t resist him anymore.

“I’m going to blow you now,” I murmured, right before I slid out of the chair. I guided him back against the kitchen counter, and I dropped to my knees in front of him. To worship him like I should have done the first time he’d asked.

I wouldn’t make the mistake of resisting him again. Never again.

I slipped my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, dragged the elastic down his hips and thighs to expose his cock. I’d noticed he was uncut when he’d knelt in front of me, stroking himself. Pleasuring himself to me. I hadn’t had the time and attention to look.

Now, I could admire him up close. Now, he was mine, to do with what I wanted. To touch and taste and please. However I wanted.

I lapped my tongue against the head, drawing another beautiful little, oh fuck from his beautiful little mouth. My own untouched, needy cock dug into my zipper, begging for attention. But how could I pay any attention to myself when I wanted to give all of it to him? I’d finish way too fast, anyway, and I needed to last longer than that.

There were so many fucking things I wanted to do to him.

Starting with this cock. I eased his foreskin down a little and dragged my tongue across the precum gathering over the slit, then sucked the crown into my mouth. Lapped at that sensitive spot under the ridge, because fuck when he moaned like that.

I could have come from listening to those tiny, desperate sounds. From watching his tight abdomen rise and fall with shallow, needy breaths. From the way his fingers wove through my hair, like he was anchoring himself to me.

I took him deeper, and those fingers tightened against my scalp. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He was literally going to make me come just talking. Part of me wanted to let it happen. Like back at the lake, but reversed. Me on my knees this time, jacking myself while I sucked him into oblivion, hot and desperate and fast. It would feel so fucking good to give in to him.

I took him all the way to the root, thinking about it. Loving the way he felt in my mouth, against my throat. Loving the tension of his fingers in my hair, the desperate twitch of his hips. I could get us both off like this, and it’d be so fucking good.

But I wanted more.

All of him. I wanted all of him.

I pulled my mouth from his cock. Replaced it with my hand. Kissed my way up the hard ridges of his abs, making his breaths quicken as my fingers rubbed over his shaft in light, slow, almost teasing strokes. I tucked my thigh between his legs and stood, cornering him against the counter. At my full height, I towered over him.

He tilted his head back to observe me through half-lidded, lust-darkened eyes. The want in those eyes was so unmasked, raw. For me. Like I was the one making him come undone and not the other way around. I wanted to take him apart, piece by piece. Licking and kissing and sucking.

I dipped my head to press my mouth to his, suck that curved lower lip against my tongue. My hand bobbed along his shaft, keeping the desire between us honed to a knife’s edge because I wanted him to need me in the same desperate way I needed him. Like a flame that would burn me from the inside out if I didn’t get him. Soon.

I rocked forward to rub my cock against the outside of his hip. Even through my jeans, that delicious, tantalizing friction dragged a groan out from deep inside me, sent my hand pumping faster over him. More.

“Bowie,” I moaned against his mouth. “Can I fuck you? Please?”

“Yes. Yes.“ The words tumbled out of his parted lips between panted breaths, and it was all I needed. My hands gripped his ass to lift him against me, because I was going to bring him into my bedroom, toss him onto my king-sized bed, and wreck him. In all the best possible fucking ways.

Neither of us could be the same after this, that much I knew.

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