Page 68 of Ship Happens
He tips his head back, and he curses under his breath as I stroke his shaft. “I can’t hold out with you. I’m trying, but you’ve turned me into a fucking minute man.”
“Good thing I only need a minute, then.”
I take his cock to the back of my throat again, fully realizing I’m forcing him to disobey my command by doing so. As I bob onhis cock, I’m dragging him closer and closer to detonation as he claws away from the impending explosion.
My fingers run over his abs as I keep sucking him. I feed on the way his stomach jerks with each ragged breath he takes. He doesn’t want to come. He wants to do as I’ve asked, and I’m making that impossible. Sweat dampens my fingertips as I splay my palm and drag my short nails down his chest. His hips jerk upward, ramming his dick down my throat.
My stomach clenches, and I gag. I can’t help it. While I’m pretty good at controlling the reflex, it’s not easy to do when I have a fucking meat log rammed in my windpipe. But it gets so much worse, because the moment I suck air through my nose, a spurt of come jets out of his dick.
I pull back, but the inches of penis I remove from my mouth seem never ending. All the while, Maverick uncontrollably comes, choking me in a really alarming amount of semen.
My brain does her very best to fight the urge to cough, which would send a gooey spray all over the bed, but she can’t do two things at once. The urge to gag overpowers me, and I nearly piss myself as my stomach heaves again. The glob of warm goo sitting heavily on my fucking tongue isn’t helping matters.
Keeping my lips pinched shut, I cast my gaze around the room, searching for somewhere to leave my offering. The orgasm-haze clears from Maverick’s head, and he realizes what’s happening.
“The mini bar!” he shouts as he flails his foot toward the tiny fridge. “There’s a vintage Bollinger in there. You can use it to wash it down.”
With my cheeks puffed out, I give him a thumbs-up before diving for the fridge. But this is no longer a wash-it-down situation. It has become a get-it-out-of-my-mouth moment. I wish I could be a trooper and swallow, but now that I’ve tasted it and felt the large quantity, there is no other option thanevacuation. It also doesn’t help that I still need to cough the initial spurt out of my left lung.
I find the bottle right in the center of the fridge. It’s hard to miss, as it’s the only occupant. After snatching it up, I rip off the foil, remove the wire cage, and gently ease the cork free, careful that it doesn’t pop off and put out my good eye. I debate going with the wash-it-down plan after all, but my stomach immediately disagrees. To prevent making more of a scene, I do what I must and ungracefully offer my deposit to the bank of Bollinger before stuffing the cork back in place and setting the bottle on the long desk below the television.
With flaming cheeks, I grab the handcuff key from my bag and hurry to release Maverick. I toss the cuffs into the small waste bin once he’s free, all while coughing myself into a stupor.
“Why’d you throw them out?” he asks as he rubs his wrists.
“You were right. Those handcuffs are bad luck, and we are never using them again.” I grab my shirt from the floor and look for the arm holes.
Maverick smirks and sits up a little straighter. “There’s no need to get dressed. Who said we were done?”
I lower the shirt and look at him, still mortified by what just happened, but the look in his eyes washes that feeling away. He smirks up at me and motions me closer, and like the horny slut I am, I obey.
Chapter Thirty
Maverick
If she thinks I’m going to get mine without making sure she’s satisfied as well, she’s sadly mistaken. Orgasms feel great, but nothing compares to giving Frankie that same sweet release. As she steps closer, I feel a sense of relief. Now I won’t have to strap her down and force the orgasm out of her.
“My issue has its downsides, but it has its benefits as well.” I fist my softening cock in my hand, gently stroking as I speak to her. “All it takes is a little more pain, and I’m ready for round two.”
Her pupils dilate as she watches my hand creep toward the cut on my hip. With gritted teeth, I speed up my strokes and prepare for a sharp dose of anguish as I drive my thumb deep into the gash. She snags her lower lip between her teeth, and it’s the last bit of assistance I need. My dick hardens in my grip.
“You gave me what I needed, sweetheart. Tell me what you need. How can I please you?”
She steps closer to the bed and sits on the edge. With a gentle touch, she guides my hand away from the cut and onto herbloodstained breast. I cup the soft flesh and stare into her eyes as I stroke myself.
“I want you to fuck me slowly. I want to feel every inch as you push and pull your hips. I don’t want you to speed up until I tell you to.”
I nod, then kiss her bloody fingers. “Whatever you need. Now place your hands on the bed. I can promise to move slowly, but I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”
As she leans forward and positions herself, I slide off the bed and get behind her. My hands glide up her back, catching on her wide hips as I come back down. She fits so perfectly in my grasp. I could toss her around, but I won’t.
Not unless she asks me to.
I position the head of my cock against her glistening entrance, reveling in the way her thick lips spread over the shining skin. When I push forward, her hips ease back, swallowing me. She’s so greedy for me, and I fucking love it. Watching my cock slowly appear and disappear, inch by agonizing inch, is a mistake, but I can’t tear my eyes away. It doesn’t matter where I look, anyway. Everything about Frankie is a feast for my eyes.
Like the way her hands grip the sheets at the apex of every thrust.
Or how she boldly looks back at me and whimpers as I take her wrists in my hands to hold her in a better position.
