Page 37 of My First and Only Crush

I groan. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” She dips her head, her hair trailing over my hairy belly, and her mouth comes down on my cock.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Could she sound any more casually younger if she tried?Cool. Yeah, her swallowing my cock is cool.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for her fingers and mouth and tongue and very strong swallowing skills to get me off. I see stars, and hear them, too, as she giggles and hops off the bed, going in search of a glass of water.

There’s a hard knock at the door.

“You up, Trick?” It’s Jeff.

Not anymore, man. Your daughter just sucked the life out of me and now she’s rinsing my jizz out of her mouth.

The tap turns off and Sinclaire tiptoes back into view, her finger held up to her mouth. Her eyes are dancing, unconcerned that her dad is barely ten feet away.

“Yeah, I’m up,” I holler.

She sits on the side of the bed, naked and lovely, sipping water as I hop up.

“Time to go?” she asks.

“Something like that,” I growl. “Put the water down.”

She gives me a confused look but does as I demand.

I hook her by the ankle and haul her to the end of the bed. “Come to Papa, pet. Daddy’s hungry, too.”

The morning light makes it clear that I’ve already ravaged her pussy enough. She’s red and swollen, well-fucked and almost certainly tender, but her legs fall open for me and her fingers weave into my hair.

I lay the gentlest of kisses on her clit, then follow that with a slow lick.

“You have to be quiet,” I remind her.

One of her hands flies off my head, and I look up in time to see her clamp it over her own mouth.

Fuck yes.

I lick her again, lower this time, to her hole and the swollen skin around it.

She doesn’t look like she could take my cock this morning. But she tastes like she wants it anyway, all fresh and slick for me, arousal sliding out faster and faster as I lick and suck at her flesh.

I clamp onto her clit and start pulsing, needing to get her there, needing to taste one more release.

I want her fresh on my tongue as I announce to the world that she’s my girl.

* * *

Dressing Sinclaire is a tender reward I didn’t expect from being her lover.

She lets me put her panties on her, and do up her bra. She puts on the same jean skirt as last night, but instead of the cowboy boots, she’s wearing converse sneakers, and instead of the tank top she pulls on a pink sweatshirt.

“How do I look?”

“Can you stop blushing?” I ask.

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