Page 111 of The Overtime Kiss

Sucking it deeper. Moaning around it.

Holy fuck.

I don’t know how I’m gonna last through this lesson.

The icy treat slides past those pretty pink lips. I’m mesmerized as I watch her suck, her cheeks hollowing out, her eyes fluttering closed. She moans around it, then stops. Taking a breath, she lets it fall from her mouth, holding it just in front of her chin. A drop of cherry juice slides down thelength of the frozen treat. I watch it go. Even the Popsicle is so turned on, it’s close.

I clench my fists. My chest is tight with anticipation.

“Does that work?” Sabrina asks.

“What?” I can barely think. I’m not sure I can speak in anything but grunts.

“Did I do it right?”

She’s such a good student, and so eager to please. And if I’m only getting one night with her every couple of weeks, I want to make the most of it. With more restraint than I’d ever thought I had, I step closer, curl a hand around her throat, and say, “Do it one more time.”

With my thumb pressing lightly against the sides of her neck—not too tight, just enough to make her breath hitch—she brings the Popsicle back to her mouth, gliding it in. She asks me with her eyes if this is okay.

“Farther,” I instruct.

She takes it deeper, and I gently rub her throat. “Remember, baby. Just relax. Just like that.”

Her muscles loosen under my palm, and I groan as the awareness hits me—she takes instructions so damn well. So well, she’s now dragging the treat all the way past her lips, so only the wooden handle is exposed.

My nostrils flare.

My eyes widen.

And I snap.

“That’s enough,” I say, letting go of her delicate throat. “Practice on me now.”

She pushes the Popsicle out of her mouth and sets it hastily on a plate on the counter. “It’s a good thing I practiced beforehand on all these Popsicles. To drive you wild.”

On that mic drop of all mic drops, she falls to her knees, yanking at my jeans in a flurry. She’s all messy and aggressive, and that heats me up so I help her along, shoving my jeansdown and freeing my cock. She’s on me in a second, and my mind short-circuits with cracks and pops of pleasure. Lust floods my body. I stumble backward against the counter, gripping it for balance.

“Holy fuck,” I say. Her mouth is icy, and sensations zing through me. I’ve never felt anything like this. “Your mouth is so cold.”

“Want me to stop?” she teases, dropping me from her lips.

I grab the back of her head, gripping tight. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

With a wicked smile, she drops her mouth back onto me, sucking me past her lips again.

She’s icy cold. And it’s so fucking hot. She sucks with fervor and zero finesse, and I don’t care. Because her enthusiasm is the sexiest thing ever.

She’s not artful. I’m not even sure she’s doing anything I just told her to do in that briefest of brief tutorials. And I’m entirely sure I don’t care—because I’m gripping the counter, clenching my teeth, and holding on for dear life.

Sabrina Snow is on her knees, sucking the chrome off my cock, the loudest, filthiest slurping noises I’ve ever heard echoing in my kitchen. It’s wet and messy, and I am being eaten alive by the flames inside my body.

Her hands are everywhere, like she can’t stop touching me. Her fingernails scratch up my abs, then down my legs, then inside my thighs. She sucks my dick, plays with my balls, and slides that deliciously cold mouth up and down my shaft again and again.

I feel like a pinball machine. She’s playing me, pulling levers, launching the silver ball inside me this way and that, where everything is lighting up, and I have no idea where anything is going—except it feels like she’s about to hit the high score on this machine.

And then, she draws me in deep, lips stretched wide,hand gripping the base, the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat—until she coughs.

I pull out, stroking her cheek as I meet her eyes. “You okay, baby?”

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