Page 111 of Bona Fide

“What’s not fair,” I convey as her tongue rakes along my shaft. “Is the power to make me fall to my knees with those fucking lips.”

She chuckles against my shaft, which sends small thrills of lust to my balls.

I give her a soft tug to her tresses. “C’mon, baby, stand up for me so I can—” That’s when she deepthroats me, the head of my dick hitting the back of her pharynx to get me to shut the hell up.

It works—Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

My head falls back. My eyes close, remembering when Reagan and I were in Connecticut and we fucked for the first time in her home. Her waking me up with kisses and wanting me to take her right there. How she opened up to me finally because our attraction was like gasoline to fire, it spread everywhere and burned hot within us.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” she says with my cock still in it.

“Only if I get to taste your pussy first,” I counter, recalling that time on Emmy’s desk when all her shit ended up knocked over.

She doesn't move from her position, so I give her a harder tug to her thick hair, and she comes to stand as I mock her previous position but drop fully to my knees.

Dragging her panties down her legs, I don't let her step out of her jeans because I like her grounded so I can drive her fucking crazy.

I lick her slit, making her knees weaken and hit my chest.

“Wade, be nice,” she mutters, contorting her hands in my hair.

“I’m never fucking nice.” Her clit becomes my dinner for the day. I haven’t eaten shit because I’ve been too busy in meetings with the governor of New York and the mayor of Brooklyn and Queens. Hours of going over their plans for how to keep the crime rate down and what support they would like from me to push their bills into legislation.

I'm down with making the larger cities safer for the people, but I don't like the governor. He's a fat fuck with a wandering eye for his young secretary, who kept interrupting our meeting with stupid shit like getting him more coffee and reminding him of things he had to do today. When, in all actuality, she wanted to show off her short black skirt and bend over whenever she got the chance.

“Wade.” My name is a needy plea off her lips. Shit, we both need this release because jerking my cock off to memories was getting to be too much like being a teenage boy.

I eat her pussy like it's my last meal, lapsing her clit with my tongue and lips. Shoving two fingers inside it to mimic my dick pumping into her when I know she needs to get fucked hard and fast.

“How many times do you go to bed imagining me on my knees?” I quip. “Wanting you to come all over my tongue.”

"Every night," she breathes. "Every time we get off the phone, and I still have the memory of how your voice sounds."

“Do you come?”

“Yes.”

“Do you play with your clit like I do after you come down?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to come again.” It’s not a question. She craves me as I do her because it’s all I have. These small moments where nothing outside can bother me. Where conference calls and board meetings are a fleeting thought.

“All the time.”

"I'll let you suck my dick again if you spread your pussy wider for me and—" She twists her foot, pushing it out further to open her legs wider. "That's a good girl."

“It feels so good,” she moans, her hands in my hair as I pump inside her a little faster with my fingers.

“You’re all I’ve eaten today.”

“Shit.” I pull back a little, listening to the sound of her wetness against my fingers.

Her legs are starting to quake at wanting to liberate herself from the built-up sexual tension we leave each other with every opportunity we get to talk.

Which, as of late, hasn’t been too often.

My schedule is packed, I’m needed everywhere, and the idea of free time doesn’t exist in my world.

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