Page 16 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Muse
She opens her mouth wide, taking me in fully. She sucks hard, her tongue swirling around my cock as she bobs her head up and down.
I can feel my orgasm building, my balls tightening as she sucks and licks. I tangle my fingers in her hair, guiding her movements as I thrust deeper into her mouth.
"I'm gonna cum,” I gasp, my hips stuttering as I reached the edge. "Fuck, Daisy, I'm gonna cum!”
I push forward thrusting my cock deep into her throat. She moans around my cock, the vibrations sending me over the edge. I cum hard, filling her mouth and she swallows every drop.
She looks up at me, her lips still wrapped around my manhood, and grins.
I grin back, my legs weak as I pull her to her feet. My arms wrap around her waist. “That was fucking amazing."
We stand there for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our hearts racing. We crawl into the bed as we catch our breath.
“By the way, you never told me what Rule Number One was.” I tell her.
She looks over at me and grins. “No sex before marriage.”
Shit.
CHAPTER
SIX
DAISY
I wakefrom my nap when I find him in the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it since I left his bed.
He looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
I lean on the counter, pretending I’m more composed than I am. I need to know more about this man. The words leave my mouth before I can even think. “How is it,” I ask, voice lighter than I feel, “that a man in his forties has never been married? You’re in your forties, right?”
He pauses mid-pour, coffee steaming in his hand. “Art got all my devotion,” he says, glancing over at me. “Didn’t think I had space for anyone else.”
I take a step closer, watching the way his jaw tenses. “And yet…” I smile, curling a finger around a lock of my own hair, “you know how to do things to a woman that make her forget her own name.”
He sets the mug down.
Crosses the space between us.
“Your taste,” he says, voice low and dark and steady, “tells me where to go.”
My breath catches.
He brushes his fingers along my jaw, slow and deliberate. “All I did was keep my mouth on the sweetest part… because it kept begging me not to stop.”
I feel that pull again—the one that starts low and coils tight in my core. I should look away. I don’t.
His gaze drops to my lips.
My knees feel shaky, and I’m not sure if it’s from how he touched me this morning or how he’s looking at me now.
I whisper, “And what if I keep begging?”
His fingers trail down my arm, slow, possessive. “Then I’ll never stop.”
And I believe him.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and move to the old couch in the living room, a blanket tossed over my legs. He sits next to me and covers himself with the blanket as well.
