Page 67 of Cougar Chronicles

His groan was her reward.

“Baby, that’s so good, the way you suck me.”

Up and down she moved, stifling her gag reflex as his tip hit the back of her throat. If she moved quickly, she found she could deep throat. A spike of pride jolted into her. Stacy Oppenheimer could deep throat Michael Moretti!

When her jaw needed a break, she trailed her lips down his shaft to his sack and rained tiny kisses over his balls. They bunched up as his thighs tensed around her head. She sucked one and then the other into her mouth, relishing his soft moans. Words met her ears—sexy words, endearing words, words telling her how hot she was, how much he loved what she was doing to him—words that made her pussy pulse with renewed energy and nectar.

This was turning her on.

His cock was glistening with her saliva. She slid her fist up and down his shaft as she continued to explore the peaks and valleys of his sack. She inhaled his musky odor, nibbled the soft skin of his inner thighs.

“Damn, you’re good at this,” Michael panted.

Good at this? If one was good at what one enjoyed, she was definitely good at sucking Michael’s cock. She smiled against his balls and thrust her mouth onto his shaft once more, sucking more firmly.

“I’m going to come, Stace,” he said. “God, I’m going to come.”

Stacy widened her eyes, pierced his greenish gaze with her own. Could she handle him coming in her mouth?

Starr Shannon could.

So could Stacy Oppenheimer.

She sucked harder, cupping his balls, massaging them. With his groan came his seed. It gushed over her tongue and throat. She savored its slightly bitter flavor. This was a victory for Stacy the introvert, a victory to relish.

She let his cock drop from her lips and swallowed his essence. Still locking her gaze with his, she glided up his glistening body, letting her breasts press into his chest, and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

“Mmm, thank you,” he said.

She let out a tiny laugh. “For what?”

He grinned. “What do you think?”

“That? Oh, that was my pleasure.”

“And mine.” He snuggled her against his body and kissed the top of her head.

Stacy was ripe for more, but fatigue had its own idea. As she cuddled into Michael and his breathing turned shallow, she drifted into peaceful slumber.

* * *

Stacy jerked upright. A strange sound buzzed in her ears. The covers next to her were rumpled. Where was Michael? Had he left?

Well, so what if he had? He certainly didn’t owe her anything. This had been a fuck for him, nothing more. She had known that going in.

Still, her heart danced a two-step when he sauntered out of the bathroom, naked and glorious. He hadn’t left her.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling. “Ready for that shower you owe me?”

The whoosh of the shower. That was the strange sound. Not so strange now. A shower with Michael Moretti. Had she died and gone to heaven?

She stood, suddenly shy again, and draped the sheet around her body.

“Oh, no.” He walked toward her. “No covering up that work of art.” He tugged at a corner of the sheet, and it fell into a rumpled puddle at her feet.

Stacy grimaced. Her hair had to be a mass of red-brown tangles. She had fallen asleep while it was wet. Lord, and he was calling her a work of art?

“Michael, I need to brush out my hair, and go to the bathroom. Can you…?”

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