Page 12 of One Reckless Summer

I’m not available for what I see in her eyes. I’m not available, period. I had to do something to convince her of that fact. I need her to see me for what I am. A man without fucking availability. A man that has nothing to offer a girl like her.

My heart is already involved, and that’s more dangerous than any mountain I’ve climbed or wilderness I’ve conquered. She would expect attention, a home, time, a reasonable man, and she deserves to be the center of someone’s world, but I already orbit around Hailey. My bandwidth for anything else is non-existent.

“You like what you do to me?” I say, the words taking on a harder edge.

“I’m sorry?” she says breathlessly, and I notice she’s now barefooted. Her toenails are painted in various shades of pink and red, like the petals of the flowers all over the walls that surround her.

“I’m not the kind of man you need, Daisy.”

“How do you know what I need?” Her hands brush the crease of her cleavage, the tips of her fingers toying with the fabric where the snap is barely keeping the shirt from exposing her swelling breasts.

The charge of lust in her eyes tells me what she’s about to do before it happens, and I’m helpless to stop it.

Her fingers work the knot holding up the plaid shirt just under her breasts, then she works the snaps open as my hand moves in a blur, taking in the perfection in front of me. She’s wearing a lace-trimmed cotton bra slash tank top, which she pushes down under her breasts, letting them fall free over the fabric, and they are even better than I could have imagined.

Desire and anger merge inside of me again, as I imagine her coming here with someone else. Someone that would take everything she’s offering and probably more.

“You shouldn’t have let me come up here with you,” I say hoarsely, reaching out and taking a fist of her hair. “It’s dangerous. I won’t touch you. I just need…relief.”

To my shock, she’s fallen to her knees, tongue tracing on her lips. “You don’t have to touch me. But I can touch you.”

God, how do I teach her a lesson without giving in to my urges? I want her to kick me out, push me away. Why can’t she see me for what I am? Unavailable, broken and way below her paygrade.

“You know what men do to drunk girls that invite them back to their room?” I demand, my hand slowing, letting her see the monstrosity of what she’s done.

“No. I’ve never invited a man back to my room. Drunk or not. I’ve never done much of …anything.” She glides her tongue along her bottom lip, looking up at my dick as her hands press on the tension of my thighs.

“I’m going to teach you then.” Pain shoots behind my eyes and I snap. “Open your mouth, and I’m going to show you.”

“I’m ready for my lesson—”

I snuff out whatever else she was going to say with my dick between her lips. How much can a man take?

“That’s what men think about when you’re around. All those guys in the bar, this is what they were imagining while they were buying you shots.” My words are muffled in the enclosed closet. Folded sheets and blankets are piled on shelves, empty metal hangers rattling as I cling to the bar, my knees trembling with the warmth of her welcoming mouth.

I release her hair, my hand slipping around the granite-hard length, and I start to pump the skin up and down as her lips pop around the ridge of the head, encasing me in wet warmth.

“Jesus.” My eyes roll back as I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting off the orgasm that is already inching up from my balls, ready to empty before I get a single pump down her pretty throat.

I jack off as she pulls away and I watch in horror and awe as she makes a throaty sound, then drops a blob of spit on the swollen head, smiling like she just won the biggest stuffed animal at the country fair.

“I saw some Tiktok where the girl said ‘you gotta spit on that thang’.”

I’m speechless, which is nothing really new, as she starts to take me in and out, working her way down, her lips stretched around the girth as a low, pleasured moan vibrates through me.

“Play with your tits,” I order, barely remembering my own name by this point. My voice is hoarse as I watch her obey, hands cupping the weight of them, eyes locking with mine. No fear, but more understanding than I deserve right now.

Her mouth is magic, working faster, wetter, as I move my hand from my dick to the side of her head, fisting her hair once again, showing her the pace I need. I’m as drunk as she is, my vision wavering as knots gather in my belly.

If this girl has never done this, no one told her mouth.

I watch as she pinches her nipples, rolling them, moaning as the pleasure I was chasing becomes a mutual goal.

She gags and coughs, tears streaming down her blushed cheeks as I push harder, deeper, harder, deeper, thinking I’m pushing her away with my rough demands, but instead, she’s whimpering, kneading her soft flesh, her distended nipples tight as she works them between her fingers.

My hips jerk forward as I exert full control over her head, her hair twined between my thick fingers as I feel her throat open to me, and she delivers the final death blow.

She drops one hand from her breast, spreading her knees on the wood floor, grabbing between her legs as her hips start to rock.

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