Page 54 of Fumbled Into Love

“Holy shit.” Deon rubs a palm over his face as he leans back on the couch. “Spin for me,” he demands, voice husky and low.

His finger twirls, mimicking the motion, and ever-so-slowly, I circle, revealing how little covers my ass.

“You are fucking magnificent,” he says, each syllable spoken as if his restraint is frayed and he’s barely holding back.

The air whooshes from my lungs at his declaration and the sincerity of it. None of my meaningless hookups have ever stopped to drink me in the way Deon does so now. None of those hookups have set every cell in my body ablaze or spoken words with such desire I can feel it in my toes.

He reaches out, and I step back. His eyes narrow.

“I want to touch you first.”

“Nathalie,” Deon hisses, attempting to rise, but I shove him back and lower to the floor to kneel between his thighs. My fingers tremble as I clutch the waistband of his costume, and he lifts his hips. I’ve never been nervous about sleeping with someone, but right now, butterflies flutter in my chest.

In one swoop, I peel away his pants and boxers. My core hollows out as I come eye to eye with the largest cock I’ve ever seen. That’s not going to fit in my mouth. Or my vagina.

His cock bobs against his stomach, glistening with pre-cum.

It might not fit, but I’m sure as hell going to try. Starting at his knees, I slowly trail my fingernails against his toned thighs, marveling at the way his muscles jump and twitch beneath my touch.

Deon’s fingers tangle in my hair, and before I can chide him, he’s lifting my chin to meet his gaze.

“A-Are you…” he trails off, stumbling over the few words he managed to choke out.

“Going to give you a blowjob?” he nods. “That’s kinda the plan.”

I giggle but quickly sober when I clock the trepidation in his gaze. I lean back on my heels, moving away as far as I can while Deon holds my head in his hands.

“I don’t have to,” I say gently. Maybe it’s not his thing. In my experience, most men enjoy my blowjobs, but maybe Deon’s not that kind of man. “Is something wrong?” His breathing is rapid and shallow as he stares at me with startled eyes. “Do you want to stop?”

“I’ve never…” Deon trails off, a blush creeping on his cheeks.

It takes a beat to register his meaning. No one’s ever given him a blowjob?

My toes curl in anticipation. There is something erotic about knowing I am the woman who gets to give Deon Adams, star quarterback in the NFL, his first blow job.

This might go to my head.

I bite my lip, holding back a smug smile.

“Do you want one?” My tongue darts out, wetting my lips.

“Fuck yes. But I won’t last long,” he admits, embarrassment lacing his words. “And I can’t promise I won’t touch you.”

Grasping him, I slowly work my hand up and down before I lean forward and drag my tongue from the base to the tip.

“Touch me as much as you’d like,” I say before taking him as deeply as I can.

He hits the back of my throat, and I force back a gag, working him deeper as he brushes the hair away from my face, groans tumbling from his lips.

I find a rhythm; my only goal is to give Deon a blowjob experience he will never forget, so I will live forever in his memory as the woman who gave him his first blowjob.

It’s a legacy I’m happy with.

My fingernails drag against his balls, and Deon groans deeply, hands tangling in my hair, his self-restraint crumbling as his fingers tighten around the strands.

I trail my tongue up his shaft, then look up at him beneath hooded lashes.

“Fuck my face,” I demand. His first blow job should be spectacular.

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