Page 39 of Slay Ride

The warm honey transfers to her tongue, and she moans as she swallows it. Her courage grows, and she dares to get a little dirty as she fists my cock and strokes over the sweet, sticky, golden lube.

Then she does something I don’t expect. She cups my balls with her hand and, while continuing to stroke my cock, she begins sucking and licking the skin of my inner thighs. I see whychicks like this shit. It’s sending zaps and tingles all the way down to my fucking toes.

Especially when her fingertips graze my two hafada piercings. If she keeps this up, I’m going to embarrass myself and nut before I can fuck her.

“Clean it off,” I say as I sit forward. “I need to be inside you now.”

She looks up at me with a bite of her lip. “You aren’t the one in charge right now, so I suggest you shut up and appreciate what I’m doing for you.”

Her fingertips press against my chest, and I allow her to push me back until I’m resting against the couch again. I’m not the type to let a woman boss me around, but for her, I’ll be an obedient boy.

For now.

She renews her grip on my junk, then lowers her tongue to the silver ball just through the ridge on the upper side of my dick. White heat swirls in my mind to the tempo of her mouth flicking over the piercing. Just when it starts to feel uncomfortably sensitive, she takes me fully, pushing me into her throat.

Her very open, very welcoming, very warm throat.

I can’t tear my eyes from the perfect curve of her back as she kneels in front of me, and I need to if I want to last. But there’s nowhere else to look. Everything about her seems perfect right now.

So I tip back my head and let it happen.

With a groan, I fill her throat, and she takes every drop. Not only does she catch all of it and keep sucking, but she manages to swallow without gagging. When she stops, she sits back and looks at me.

I’m pretty sure we have the same look on our faces. It’s probably the same look anyone has when they try something forbidden and realize they like it too much to stop.

“Fuck, what have we done?” Cat whispers.

“Made a mess, for starters,” I say as I drop my hand into a sticky spot on the couch.

“No, I mean...this. What we just did. If Kindra finds out?—”

“She won’t find out. Neither will Ezra. We aren’t telling anyone about this, remember?”

She takes a deep breath and climbs onto the couch. “Right, but things will be different. You don’t think they’ll notice?”

“So I wasn’t the only one who wants to do this again?”

When she doesn’t answer, I look at her. I don’t know how I’ll recover my bruised ego if she doesn’t feel the same.

Cat groans and buries her face in her hands. “I don’t know how I feel. I thought it was just the alcohol, but now I’m not sure.”

“We could always try it again when we’re more sober,” I suggest. “You know, for science.”

She thinks this over, then nods. “I guess as long as no one knows. Not because I’m embarrassed, of course. I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

“Right, same.”

Wow, this is really fucking awkward. We need to get back to fucking around. That seems to be the sort of communication we can come together on...no pun intended.

But then she snuggles into me, and the awkward feelings intensify. Am I supposed to put my arm around her? Pull her closer? This romantic shit is new territory. In the heat of a sexual moment, it comes easily enough. It’s the price men must pay to offload into warm waters. But outside of sex? I don’t cuddle.

“You can hold me,” Cat says. “I won’t bite. This time.”

It’s not like my arm will rot off if I placate her a little, so I do it. I put my arm around her and pull her closer, and as she rests her head against my chest and sighs, I remind myself that she’s probably right. This won’t be our new normal. It was all the alcohol, and when we sober up in a few hours, we’ll be right back to clawing each other’s throats out.

There’s only one way to find out, so I close my eyes and let sleep take me.

Chapter Sixteen

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