Page 50 of Virgin Skin

“One more day.”

One more day. One more day until the roads are cleared. One more day before we have to be back at Ink Slingers. One more day without any rules or guilt. His words echo my exact thought from just a few minutes ago when I saw we were still snowed in.

I nod and sink to my knees right in front of him. Piston’s fingers flex against the edge of the counter, his eyes burning and his cock twitching as it slowly swells. I hook two fingers in his waistband and look up at him, waiting for him to tell me to stop, holding my breath and hoping he can’t feel the slight trembling in my hands. I’m not shaking because I’m about to skip the training wheels altogether and suck an expert level cock on my first go, although don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind. No, I can’t keep myself still because it’s taking everything inside of me not to bury my nose against the swell of his balls and lick him through the sweat-resistant fabric.

He grunts and gives one little thrust of his hips. That’s all the encouragement I need. I shoot him a wicked smile and tug his shorts down. Once they’re free of his thighs, they fall easily to the ground around his feet. My breath catches as I find myself up close and personal with his dick for the first time. And fuck me, is it pretty.

It’s not fully hard yet, still hanging heavy, plumping and straightening right in front of my eyes. A few dark blue veins become more prominent, running down his shaft, throbbing with the heat of his arousal. The silver barbell goes right through his slit, one ball resting in the dip while the other comes out onthe underside of his head. His balls hang heavy and full, dusted with just enough dark hair that I wonder for a second what it would feel like to nuzzle my face into them. Would that be a weird thing to do? Maybe that’s more second blowjob territory.

“This is my first time,” I remind him, running my hands up his thighs as I lean in close, bringing my lips within half an inch of his cock. “So no laughing if I suck at it.”

“Sucking is kind of the point, Mi,” he says gruffly, a spark of amusement momentarily overtaking the thick fog of lust in his eyes.

“Is it? Shit, I’m glad you told me.”

“Smartass.” He threads his fingers through my mess of bedhead, not tugging or trying to hurry me along, just massaging my scalp, tempting me to arch into him and purr like a cat.

As charming as the witty banter is, it’s not what I took his pants off for. The humor melts away and I close that final half inch, wrapping my lips around the tip of his cock, still spongy and swelling rapidly.

The metallic taste is the first thing to hit me again, but it’s not unpleasant and it’s overpowered in seconds by the musky flavor of his skin. I moan and Piston chokes on a gasp of his own. Maybe I should have given him a few strokes to get him fully hard or teased him a little longer. I’m not sure what the usual protocol is, obviously. I’m fucking glad I was impatient though. Feeling his cock get bigger and stiffer between my lips, stretching and pulsing against my tongue as it expands, is hotter than anything my fantasies have ever been able to conjure.

I explore him with my tongue, stroking over the thick veins all the way up to his crown. I think about all the spots I’m most sensitive when I play with my own dick, and I use a little extra force to lap at the ridge where his shaft meets the head. He groans and his fingers flex in my hair, tugging just a little, but otherwise holding still. His thighs quake and he lets out huffybreaths as I trace his piercing with my tongue, flicking the silver balls and lapping at the minuscule patch of skin between them.

“Jesus fuck,” Piston grunts, his hips twitching, his now fully stiff cock nudging deeper into my mouth, bumping into the fleshy part at the back.

The muscles in my throat contract involuntarily, squeezing tight, my abs flexing as my stomach attempts to expel something that isn’t there. Piston moans and releases his grip on my hair to shove his fist into his mouth. His cock throbs and jerks against my tongue. He starts to pull back, muttering a barely formed apology. I grab his hips to stop him, watching his face with fascination. I dig my fingers into his taut, stone-chiseled ass cheeks and pull him deep into my mouth again. The reflex isn’t as intense this time, but I still can’t fight the urge to swallow as he fills the back of my throat. Piston shouts again, his face contorting with a strained, desperate kind of pleasure that makes my cock leak inside my sweatpants—Piston’ssweatpants.

Holy fuck, I had no idea there would be so much power in sucking a dick. Why would anyone use ‘cocksucker’ as an insult? I fucking own Piston right now. He whimpers. The six-foot, inked from head to toe biker fuckingwhimpersas I ease off and do it all over again.

I shove my hand down my pants and fist my aching cock, holding Piston’s gaze as I start to work myself with the same rhythm that I bob my head up and down his shaft. Every time I reach the crown, I tease his piercing and squeeze my own tip. What will it feel like to have the barbell catching against the rim of my hole as he eases himself inside of me? I clench and groan at the thought, jerking my hips to fuck my hand.

“Let me see,” Piston pants.

I’m not about to deny my mouth the pleasure of his cock, so it takes me a second to maneuver out of the sweatpants without accidentally biting down. My erection springs free and I wrap myhand around myself again and find the same rhythm as before—fast and hungry, gorging myself on his cock. Every swallow gets a little easier until the ache in the back of my throat is nonexistent. Spit and precum cling to my lips, and every slurp and bob is wetter and filthier than the last. His cock slips even deeper as I learn to relax into it, my balls tightening with every curse he bites out and every tremble of his thighs.

I’m lost to the rhythm, fucking hypnotized by the feeling of my lips and throat stretching around Piston’s cock over and over as my balls tighten and my insides coil with heat.

I fuck my fist shamelessly, snapping my hips at the same pace I swallow and slurp at his cock. My precum drips between my fingers and the thought of something other than my hand squeezing tight around my cock fills my mind. The other night I begged Piston to fuck me—and holy fuck do I want him to—but would he ever go the other way? Would he let me pin him down and sink inside of him?

The image of my cock filling his hole hits me with so much force it turns me absolutely feral. I can’t manage the coordination to bob my head, so I hold him deep in my throat while I rut into my hand, more precum slicking the way with every thrust. My muffled moans almost seem like they travel up Piston’s cock and come right out through his mouth given how in sync our throaty, animalistic sounds are. Grunts, gasps, and gravelly pleas form on my tongue but end up on Piston’s lips instead.

My balls draw tight, and I shout around my mouthful, slamming myself deeper onto his cock, burying my nose in the dark, curly thatch of hair around his base. Piston groans my name, and his cock starts to pulse, jerking between the hard surface of the roof of my mouth and my hot, wet tongue. Fingers back in my hair, his hips twitch with little thrusts as rope after rope of his cum fills the back of my throat.

My release oozes over my fingers and spurts against the tile floor between his feet, pleasure hitting me in dizzying waves. I grind out every last drop of pleasure, fucking my hand while I suck and lick Piston’s cock, too greedy to give it up before I’ve sucked him dry.

When it starts to soften, Piston whimpers again. This time the sound is exhausted and sated and so fucking hot it almost makes my spent dick hard all over again. I release him and a string of spit clings to my lip. I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and look up at him. He looks absolutely fucking drained and a satisfied feeling settles in my gut.

“Thanks for making bacon,” I joke, kissing his hip, then carefully getting to my feet, my legs wobbly underneath me.

Piston gives a hoarse laugh.

“If that’s the thanks for bacon, I’ll buy a whole damn pig farm.”

PISTON

Normally I would be disgusted by cold eggs and bacon, but my cock is still tingling and my legs are still shaking as I shovel them happily into my mouth this morning. I feel like I’m sixteen again, trading stupid grins with Milo in between bites of our breakfast and sips of coffee. His bare foot bumps against mine under the table and a whole damn swarm of butterflies explodes in my gut.

Jesus, I need to get a hold of myself.

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