Page 56 of Blood Debt
She gasps.
Her fingers flex slightly.
I reach down, slowly, deliberately, and unzip my pants. The sound is quiet, sharp. I take myself out and guide her hand back to me, skin to skin now.
For a second, she doesn’t move.
Then, slowly, she tightens her grip. And begins to stroke.
The first movement is tentative—her hand slides up my shaft with a feather-light touch, then back down again. My breath catches instantly. She’s not sure of herself, but her inexperience makes it worse for me—better. My cock twitches inher hand, thick and throbbing, already leaking at the tip from the tension winding low in my gut.
“F-fuck…” I breathe, voice barely there.
She does it again.
A little firmer this time. Fingers wrapping around my length, stroking up in a slow drag, her thumb brushing the underside on the way down. My eyes flutter closed. The pleasure is sharp, hot, crawling up my spine with every slick pull of her hand.
I brace my palm on the wall beside her head.
And then I rest my weight into her—my chest leaning into her shoulder, my hips gently rocking with the rhythm she’s setting. My head dips lower, mouth brushing the curve of her neck.
Up…slow, tight…then down again, letting her fingers skim the sensitive head. The way her palm curves around me, the way her hand slides through the pre-cum slicking the head—it’s perfect.
I groan and let my forehead press to her bare shoulder.
My breath fans across her collarbone. Her other hand stays awkwardly pinned between us, but the one wrapped around my cock is steady. Her thumb flicks gently over the slit at the tip.
I gasp. My hips jerk. “Shit—just like that….”
Her strokes speed up, not rushed, but confident now. She’s watching me. I can feel it in the heat of her stare, in the way her breath shortens to match mine.
Her grip tightens just slightly at the base, and she twists on the way up. My knees threaten to give out. I moan again, mouth open against her skin.
Her hand moves faster now.
The friction is perfect. She strokes up with a twist, down with pressure, her palm sliding over the swollen head of my cock with just enough teasing to make my hips jerk forward helplessly.
I groan again—louder this time, a deep sound torn from my chest.
My lips find her neck.
I kiss the curve of it right below her ear. I can feel her pulse racing under her skin, her breath catching when I drag my tongue across the spot I know will make her shiver.
Then I bite. She moans softly. Her grip tightens.
She starts pumping me faster like she’s trying to force every last reaction out of me. And I give them to her. My hips roll into her fist, my stomach tightens, the base of my spine burning.
“I’m close…” I grit, mouth still at her throat. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
She doesn’t.
Her hand jerks over the head, again and again. I throw my head back, muscles locking tight. My cock pulses, swelling in her grip.
And then I come.
With a groan that rips from deep in my chest, my body seizes forward.
The first spurt is thick and hot—shooting over her knuckles, her wrist. Another follows, then another—ropes of come stripping her skin as I pump into her fist, hips flexing, every nerve on fire.
