Page 154 of Vicious Saint
I’ve spent more time than expected focused on getting Hendrix to orgasm…but that’s because hearing her scream my name like I’m her savior is more erotic than anything.
She moans as I find the sensitive area again, and I don’t need to see those pretty green eyes to know they’re rolling in the back of her head.
Fuck. Those eyes.
They’re a wicked aphrodisiac…and the road to my undoing.
“Come again, Jimi. Go ahead. Squirt that sweet poison of yours for me.”
She releases my cock with a pop, so lost in bliss I don’t think she even realizes she’s riding my face. “I’m about to…Saint…I can’t…I’m…”
A tingle erupts at the base of my spine, the sensation making me groan. “It’s okay. Me too.”
Hendrix takes control again with her mouth, as I do her clit, licking it until her orgasm explodes in my mouth.
Her scream is muffled as clear liquid gushes, and like the savage I am I savor the sweetness before drinking it down.
Seconds and one glide of her lips later…an orgasm rushes my cock, shooting ropes of cum down her throat with every buck of my hips.
My growl vibrates as she swallows, and even louder as I feel her coaxing more out of me with strokes of her hand.
“Such a good girl when she wants to be.” I reach for one of Hendrix’s tits, massaging it as she sucks me dry.
“Maybe.” She licks the full length of my cock. “But thegoodis something else that ends tonight.”
In the thick of what Hendrix assumed was a temporary fuck affair, neither of us took a moment to stop eating each other to get actual food.
Hendrix put her Italian to good use at the time he was instructed to return, which was unfortunately too late for him to hear me manhandling her. Doesn’t mean the guy was oblivious, given the bed was in shambles when he walked in, the room still perfumed with sex.
His imagination is what earned me a nasty scowl the whole time Hendrix mouthed off directions to the Chinese restaurant we ordered from.
He didn’t argue, though, at least not in the sense of leaving his precious cargo alone with me. In fact, he insisted. Especially when my little Jimi Hendrix felt bad about sending him on errands and insisted on getting it herself so he can relax.
A courtesy I happened to offer right before he showed up in exchange for another blow job.
Carlo’s eyes nearly bursted out of his head as he went off on some rant in Italian, making Hendrix annoyed enough to speak some words of her own.
It was hot as fuck listening to her, especially since so many words involved rolling her tongue—and now that I know she speaks a little, better believe I’ll have her moaningallthe dirty words.
Getting back to the point…
From what English I gathered, it sounded imperative that she doesn’t go on her own. Now don’t get me wrong, any decent guy with half a brain wouldn’t expect a girl to go alone at night to pick up some food, but the urgency in his tone made it clear that, like me, chivalry had nothing to do with it.
And I made it my mission to find out why.
“Damn, I’m stuffed.” Hendrix blows out a breath, sliding her container of Sesame Chicken farther away on the table.
I snatch that shit up in seconds.
“Haven’t you had enough?” She eyes my third empty plate once made up of Mongolian Beef.
Chicken and Broccoli.
Pork fried rice.
Oh, and two egg rolls.
“Burned a lot of calories today, Jimi.” I toss a piece of chicken in my mouth. “Mostly on you.”
