Page 104 of Force At Third

On my knees, I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and look up. Sure enough, he’s holding his breath, and he stays that way until I use my teeth to tug at the end of his piercing.

He sucks a breath between his teeth, and I do it again.

His voice is gravel as he says, “What do you think?”

I lick the precum coating his slit, and his cock twitches. “Even better.”

Gripping him more firmly, I begin to stroke him as I suck. His hand skates up the back of my neck, and his fingers tangle in my hair.

“Just like that … Just fucking like that.” He thrusts into my mouth, but never enough to gag me, so I take him deeper, feeling him against the back of my throat, uncaring as my eyes start to water and drool drips down my chin. He wipes it up with his finger, brings it to his mouth, and sucks it off. His nostrils flare. “Bad girl.”

Mouth full, I nod and suck down up the length of him, tongue flat against the bulging veins on the underside, and all the way up to wrap my lips around the broad head and suck harder.

I love the taste of his skin, the feel of him in my mouth, no matter how deep, and I crave his cum.

I lick his thick, hard, beautiful cock before tugging at the piercing and do it watching his jaw tighten and his eyes … his gorgeous green eyes grow heavier and wilder.

I crave that look, too—his undoing, his lust, want, desire, and need for me.

I continue sucking faster, taking him deeper, gagging myself, and it feels so damn good.

“You keep that up,” he hisses as his head hits the back of my throat and continues as I suck down his length, “you may stop real soon, or I’m gonna fill your beautiful fucking mouth.” I grip him harder, stroke him faster, and then take him again, all the way to the back of my throat. “Gonna swallow every fucking drop.”

I do not relent. I suck, and lick, and stroke until my name comes out in beautiful breaks between groans and growls.

His first burst of hot cum hits the back of my throat, and I swallow quickly, continuing to suck and pump him. The next hits, and I swallow that, too, and then the third.

“Fuck,” he says softer. “Jesus, Gwendolyn.”

I continue stroking him, slowing as I trace the silver barbell with my tongue while watching his chest rise and fall beneath his stupidly expensive button-down.

He grips my hand, stopping my movement, and then pulls me up to stand, cups the side of my face, and pulls my head to his chest, where I can hear his heart beating wildly beneath his hard chest. Lips to the top of my head, he whispers, “You have no idea how fucking much I love you.”

“You’re wrong, because I love you just as much.”

The Storm

19

“Swear to God, you scrambled my brain.” I shake my head back and forth.

She grins as she walks out of the closet, arm in a sling, holding boxers, track pants, and a tee.

“Why the boxers?”

“Can’t have you walking around here like a little ho with your giant dick swinging free.” She laughs.

That grin, that laugh, my Gwendolyn.

“I love you.”

She nods. “I know.”

I step out of the dress pants, which are still around my ankles. “Promise me, Gwendolyn. Promise that no matter what we face, we do it together and never let anything put us?—”

“Two things.”

“Okay.”

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