Page 51 of The Professor
Wet dreams? He’d had them about me? Fuck, that was hot.
But I couldn’t question him about them because his cock was there, sliding into my mouth and filling my cheeks. He held my head firm and rode to the back of my mouth, just touching my throat, not enough to make me gag.
“Ah yeah…” he moaned. “So good.”
He withdrew and rode in again, canting his hips.
I gripped his left ass cheek and with my free hand I found his balls, cupped the soft sacs and rolled them gently.
He let out a string of expletives and unholy praises to the Lord. His fingers tightened in my hair, and his cock expanded.
When he hit the back of my mouth again, I sucked, tugging the end of his glans.
“Chelsea…fuck…I’m gonna…”
He was close, so close. I’d got him to the edge as quickly as he’d taken me to the edge. That knowledge was thrilling, empowering, and my pussy quivered and dampened in response.
“Nearly there, good girl…” He drove in and out of me. “Keep doing that…fuck…that’s it…suck me.”
Pre-cum leaked onto my tongue. I was struggling to take his length now he was so swollen, so ready to explode. But I did. I forgot about breathing, this was all about his pleasure.
And then it was there; he roared through his release, rocking me on and off his cock, filling my mouth with cum that leaked onto my chin and dripped to my breast. His cock throbbed, and his balls retracted into his body.
Suddenly he withdrew, folding to his knees in front of me and smashing his mouth onto mine. It was a desperate, urgent kiss that had small pulses of pleasure gripping my clit.
“It was never…that good…in my dreams,” he managed breathlessly. “Fuck, you’re talented at that.”
“I aim to please.” I grinned.
“Oh, you pleased, little girl, you pleased a lot.”
Chapter Thirteen
Andrew
Chelsea’s sweet face was dripping in my cum. The sight was so erotic my greedy cock twitched again. I’d tasted myself when I’d kissed her after what had been undoubtedly the best blow job of my life. Perhaps it was the years of buildup, the anticipation, or the fact she’d been my captive that had made it so incredible. Maybe, and this was the most likely thing, it was Chelsea, the woman I’d wanted to make mine for almost as long as I could remember. And now, now shewasmine. There was no way I was letting her go.
“You should shower again,” I said to her.
“Maybe. Want to join?”
My phone rang. “Just let me get this.” Reluctantly, I released her and fished my cell from my jeans pocket. “Dalton. What’s up?”
“The Convicts have been in touch.”
“They have?” I watched Chelsea sashay past me, her sweet ass still a bit pink from my hand the day before.
“Yeah, they know this asshole, he’s been on their radar for a while. Two young girls went missing a few months ago, bodies turned up in the woods. Strangled. He was the only suspect, but they didn’t have enough to charge him, and he was let go after twenty-four hours.”
“Okay.”
“They’re convinced he’s guilty as sin, and I trust these guys…well, with this kind of thing anyway.
“What an asshole. You got a name?”
“Yes, Brian Dix.”
“Brian Dix. Okay.”
