Page 79 of Show Me How
My stomach tumbles. I do as he says.
He tugs me forward, and I flatten my tongue completely over that wet spot. My eyes shut, and I breathe through mynose before bringing my lips to him, sucking the fabric. There’s something protruding beneath my tongue that’s hard and round, and I shift to feel it more clearly?—
“Shit.”
I flash a look at him, pulling away, worried that I’ve done something wrong. He works his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks straining. Shade presses blunt nails to my scalp and nods when he notices me looking. I let an exhale go and swipe my tongue over the spot again, finding it soaked through, the taste of him gone.
The feel of his waistband between my fingers comes back to me, and I pull back enough to give it one tug. Shade lifts his hips again, and I work them down. His erection doesn’t move, so stiff it looks painful as I stare.
There’s a round, black piercing protruding from the slit in the tip.
“Is that . . .” I start.
Shade wets his lips, nodding. “Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen one in person.”
A slight quirk of his lips. “First impressions?”
“It looks like it hurts.”
He rolls his shoulders. “Nah, princess. Feels really fucking good when it’s touched right.”
“Oh.”
“What I teach you today won’t work for every guy. Not unless they’ve got one too.”
“Okay.” Even if I don’t understand it, I want to try. I want to know what makes him feel good.
“Wrap your hand around me,” he says, gentler this time.
I hold my breath and reach out, letting my fingertips glide over the silklike skin before curling them around it. It’s thick and firm. Harder than I expected it to be. I’ve touched one beforeShade, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t nearly this size, and I wasn’t interested in seeing if I could get it this big.
“Tighter, Millie.”
My hold constricts. “Okay.”
“How many times have you done this before?” he asks, no judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity.
“Once.”
“Only your hand, or your mouth too?”
“Just my hand,” I admit, my throat suddenly dry.
His nostrils flare, the hand in my hair nearly painful. “Spit on it. Get me wet before doing anything else.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms, nerves crackling like static beneath my skin. I freeze up, my attention fixed to the sight of him in my hand, the tip slick but an angry shade of red. It’s intimidating enough on its own, but to add the small black ball sticking out of it? And now he wants me to spit on it? As if that’s a casual demand.
Not in the slightest.
“Can’t we use lube instead?” I ask, the words tumbling out.
His brows bounce. “If that’s what you want to use, yes. I’ll get some right now if you tell me the reason behind wanting it.”
“Spitting isn’t . . . it’s not attractive.”
“Why not?” he counters.
