Page 50 of Red Flag Bull

God, he’s going to spank me for that later.

I meet his gaze. He frowns, and I get the arched eyebrow, but he doesn’t reprimand me beyond that, and he continues to sit quietly while he waits for me to make the next move.

“Sorry,” I whisper moving closer and raking my fingers over his body, while I let my eyes take their fill. “I’ve never been able to enjoy all of you at once before,” I say with total reverence. “Is it okay if I look at you a while, before I pull you to the floor, to drag myself along your fucking skin? I mean… Look at you.”

His eyes get shifty, and he glances away as he shrugs.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when his jaw tenses beneath his tidy beard.

He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my gaze.

I climb into his lap and hold his face between my hands, so he can’t look away. “Tell me.”

He sighs. “I was fighting the urge to pull one of the cushions in front of me to cover up. I’m uncomfortable being the one under this kind of scrutiny.”

“Scrutiny?” I ask. “As in… me, appreciating your strength and beauty?” I squint at him. “You’ve always looked at me like this. It makes me feel pretty and special.”

He scoffs. “That’s because you’re beautiful, and I’m?—”

“Beautiful,” I say in a tone meant to silence him. I clutch his throat and squeeze, before he can utter anything else. “You can use your safe-word if you want me to stop, but until you do, I’m going to kiss you from your beautiful head to your beautiful toes, and then I’m going to suck your beautiful cock. Mm-kay?”

I release his throat and push my fingers through his short hair, and he exhales with a rumble, as his cock strains beneath me. “If that’s what you want to do with your power, I’d be a fool to challenge it,” he says, with a soft snort. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch, while I rub all over him, kissing and nipping his skin.

He hisses when I sink my teeth around his nipple, and he grips my ass so hard, his fingers bite my flesh, but instead of throwing me down and making me regret it, he shoves his hands under his ass, pinning them there.

“Such a good boy,” I tease. I tug his bottom lip with my teeth, before I slither down between his legs, to take his thick cock in my mouth. I flick the tip of my tongue at his slit, to taste the salty slickness he’s made me, and then I suck him hard until he curls his toes into the rug.

He moans and grips the couch. “Fuck.”

He clasps my shoulder, fists my hair, and drives me down on his cock, until I gag and pull backward.

“Hey.” I wipe my mouth and try to get my lust under control.

I fucking love it when he makes me do something that pleases him. Usually, he’s so focused on forcing me to accept pleasure that his is a second thought, but to have him be this unguarded?

I squeeze my thighs together over the chronic needy ache he inspires.

He raises his hands and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m no good at this whole role-reversal thing. You’re making me feel too good. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to pick you up, throw you down, and fuck you till you beg to come.”

“You’re meant to feel this good,” I say, breathing hard. “Do you think I’m sucking you this enthusiastically because I want you to feel bad?” I take his hand between my slippery thighs, so he can feel what pleasing him does to me. “I like making you feel good.”

I rock against his hand, and then gather three of his fingers together and fuck them while he watches.

More pre-cum oozes from his cock each time it bucks and strains. The urge to collect it on my tongue is making me salivate, but there’s somewhere else I want it more.

“When you feel good, I feel good,” I say, climbing back onto his lap and trading his fingers for his cock. My pussy spreads around the thick head, and I rock back and forth, working his girth inside me until he’s buried to the hilt. “Don’t you want me to feel good?” I ride him nice and slow as I guide his mouth to my breast.

He latches on and suckles in a gentle tease, unlike the desperate, needy way he first devoured my breastmilk. This is sweeter and more loving. Like he did when he asked about our baby.

Is that what he’s thinking about? Is he trying to recreate the sensation of a child, feeding?

His beard scuffs my skin in a very un-baby-like way, as he nuzzles closer, and the thought leaves my mind. I’m struck again by the size and strength of the grown man nursing at my breast, and my pussy ripples around his cock. How many years have I craved him? Craved this closeness and acceptance? Craved the life we should have had?

What could that life have been? Would we have been happy with our family? Had our boy to love? Would we have had more children? How many? Two? Three? Six? How sexy would he have been, teaching them sports and demanding excellence from their teachers?

I imagine Jason with a baby in his arms, and my core shivers. He responds by sucking harder, tugging my nipple deep into his mouth, and squeezing my breast with his lips as he swallows. A jolt of need shocks me into a frenzy, and Jason doesn’t miss a beat. He meets my increased pace and angles his jerking cock hard at my cervix before switching his hot mouth to my other breast and pulling to encourage my milk to flow.

Is the sensation flooding me with desire due to his ministrations or the fantasy of making babies with him? I can’t tell, but the escalation in my urgency to come is undeniable.

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