Page 108 of David's Proposal

His kiss is famished, deeply sexual, striped of tenderness, while his fingers mold to my butt, his other hand cuffing my neck.

My body response is swift.

My blood runs hot when I feel him so worked up, and instead of slowing down I open the door all the way, invite him in, and touch his fly.

He’s rock hard, his erection pushing against his pants, so I slide his zipper down and take him out.

Rolling my lips with his, I stroke his hard flesh.

We don’t stop. Can’t stop. And when I touch the tip of his erection, and my thumb comes back wet, I know what I need to do.

My lips pull away from his as I lower myself and take him into my mouth.

He doesn’t pull back if anything pushes closer. And here I am, sucking him in a motel room in the middle of the night after Thea’s wedding.

How screwed up is that?

I don’t have much time to think about it.

All I know is that he tastes fine. He is iron–hard, and I’ll probably swallow his seed before he slides himself between my legs.

There is no point in fixing something that is working, and right now, this works just fine.

His hand rests on my head while I swallow as much as I can, swirling my tongue around, sucking on him every time I have him in my mouth.

He doesn’t want to stop either, his touch hardening on the back of my head and his thighs turning into blocks of concrete while he rocks his hips against my mouth.

Hitting the back of my throat repeatedly puts him at the summit of his pleasure, and he comes, experiencing lonely satisfaction that makes me think he’s wanted this since we did it the last time.

We have become addicted to it. No wonder our plans never work. This little thing called sex always gets in the way.

And we’re planning to have fun and this and that and the other. And we do. But there are deeper things we discuss that shuffle through our conscience.

I like him like that.

I like him a lot.

And he enjoys taking stuff from me. Not feeling obligated to give anything in return. This might have to do with his past and my preference for it.

I have no other explanation for that.

Part of it I swallow, and part of it goes on the floor when he strikes his still hard length to his satisfaction and blasts out more.

“Good fucking job…” he says later, his eyes unfocused, a soft smile clinging to his lips. “I didn’t plan to start with that…” he goes on, grabbing a fistful of my Jair and pulling me up until my lips are lined with his.

He gets a taste of himself from my lips before he nudges me in and slams the door closed.

“Take your clothes off,” he says in a dry tone.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I look at him.

“What are we doing?” I ask quietly.

“You’ll see,” he says, smiling and unfastening his belt.

“You don’t like spanking,” I reiterate, paying attention to the belt.

“Do you?”

---