Page 76 of Devilry

Confused, I don't move, my mind taking too long to catch up.

He slaps my ass. “I’ve got a better idea. Turn around, hands on the wall.”

I comply, too wound up to question him, or even care. He has all of me. He can do, touch, taste, tease, every single part of me and there will be no signs of objection ever coming out of my mouth.

His hands squeeze my cheeks, while he takes his time kissing, licking, and biting. “You going to give me this one day?”

“Fuck,” I cry out, my brain short circuits, while my dick painfully throbs at the possibility.

He spreads me wide, and I’m sure I’m about to pass out. I look over my shoulder. His steel colored eyes, skilled tongue, and hard cock will be my undoing.

He’s all sin, on his knees forme, worshipingme, like I’m worth it. Like a prized possession. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather fucking be.

I feel a light breath of air on my hole before he circles the tip of his tongue around my rim.

“Cole,” I whimper.

“Give me that noise again,” he taunts. His tongue presses against me harder, dipping the tip inside.

My breath is erratic, my heartbeat unreliable, my cock aching to be touched.

I bring my hand to my dick and start stroking myself as he devours my ass. His hands snake between my legs and caress my tight balls.

“Cole,” I croak.

“Yeah, baby?”

I let my forehead fall to the tiles as a resounding “Ahhh” leaves my mouth and echoes around us.

“That’s right, sweet boy. Am I driving you crazy? Imagine when my thick cock’s inside you.” A slick, lathered finger probes my ass as his words rile me up. “The fucking noises you will make,” he mutters.

“I’m going to spread you just like this. Stretch you just enough.” A second finger goes in and my body crumbles when he brushes against my prostate.

“Cole, I can’t.”

He spins my hips around and puts me back in his mouth. Skillfully, he sucks me off, while his fingers continue to graze my sensitive spot, waiting for me to explode.

With one last push, I fall apart. Right on cue, I come. Hard. Hot. Heavy.

He takes his time sucking me dry, milking my come into his mouth. When his mouth slides off me, I shakily drop to my knees, grab his face, and consume him. Desperate to taste myself on him, my tongue dances around in his mouth. Enjoying him. Thanking him. Adoring him.

“How do you taste?” he asks, working out my affinity for after-blow job kisses.

“Better when it’s off your tongue.”

“I fucking love when you let go and get filthy,” he praises.

“Stand up and I’ll be as filthy as you want me to be.”

Without hesitation he complies, his thick, veiny cock spilling at the slit, angry and begging for release.

I cover him with my mouth, bobbing my head, working my throat, relishing in his taste. Unexpectedly, he pulls out. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, while his big hands stroke and squeeze his cock.

Locking my eyes with his, I open my mouth, ready and waiting. With me kneeling in front of him like a supplicant, it takes less than ten seconds for ropes of his come to land on my tongue and drip onto my chin.

“God, you’re a fucking sight,” he says through labored breaths.

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