Page 100 of The Fire We Crave

When I said it, I imagined it sinking between those lush lips of hers. A baptism in her saliva. But this is better.

“You’re such a good girl, Quinn. It’s perfect.”

Pace and intimacy and praise are the difference between cock worship and a hand job or blow job. Intention heightens everything.

She crawls the few paces to the bowl and dips the cloth she brought into the water. In the silence, she pulls it out, wrings it, then dips it back in. As she moves, I get to take in the way the muscles in her core flex, how she has little dimples at the base of her spine, and how I think I could wrap my hands around her waist if I wanted to.

When she finally returns to me, my jaw softens. She presses the damp cloth to the left of my cock, where the hair I keep trimmed smooths beneath her strokes.

My cock twitches as she works, desperate for her hands on it. She moves, but only to place the cloth to the right side.

I take a deep breath, and the stress I hadn’t realized I was still carrying creeps from my neck.

There’s no point in lying to myself. I’ve had my fair share of attractive women attend to me in lots of different ways.

But this…

It’s fucking special. And even I’m not so hardened to life that I can’t tell the difference. It’s not just that what’s happening between us in this room is special.

It’s that she is.

I wanted to do something for her, to take her mind off whether the doors are locked. Whether men are going to return to her bakery tonight.

And it turns out that, when given free rein to choose whatever she wanted, she chose this. She chose being of service to me as the thing that would calm her mind and ground her.

I can feel it in the silence. In the same way the tension leaves my body, I can feel it leave hers too. The room becomes a place of calm for both of us. Of needs met. And I’m not sure it gets any more perfect than that.

I want to tell her, but I think the break in silence will bring her back to the room from whatever state she’s in right now, and that would be cruel.

So, I sit, and watch, and enjoy, and savor the preciousness of this moment.

Quinn washes my balls, and then I gasp when she sucks one of them into her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue. Then, repeats the process on the other. “They fit in my mouth so perfectly,” she says quietly.

I touch her chin. “That’s because your mouth is perfect.”

She smiles shyly. And I see the layers stripped away. Quinn, the fiercely independent lonely baker, is replaced with the soft Quinn who trusts me in this moment. Someone finding safety in your arms must be one of the greatest things to happen to a person.

Quinn takes her time, dipping the cloth and squeezing it out several times before she reaches for my cock. This time, she wraps it around my length and starts to gently rub up and down. There’s the friction of the cloth, and the tension of her grip, and the look of sheer concentration on her face. I can almost hear her thoughts, so focused on doing it right.

I cup the side of her face. “You’re doing this so well,” I say. “Your touch is everything, Quinn. I love how you’re loving me right now.”

Her eyes go wide. “Truly?”

Truly.

Such a powerful word.

“Truly.”

When she’s done, she places the cloth over the edge of the bowl and shuffles forward on her knees until she’s right between my thighs. Gripping the base of my cock, she licks the underside like she’s licking a popsicle. Her tongue is perfect and pink.

One day, if she’ll let me, I’ll take a picture of her tongue on my cock to keep me warm on those nights the club takes me away from home.

But when she rises on her knees and lowers her mouth over my cock head, I gasp and let my head flop back. “Yes, Quinn. Suck it.”

She does as I request, sucking harder the next time she lowers her mouth over me. When I slip from her mouth with a popping sound, she smiles. “You taste so good,” she says. “I love how hard you are, yet how soft your skin feels.”

All that pretty auburn hair of hers drapes over her shoulders, the edges of it brushing erect nipples.

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