Page 87 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
His hard, throbbing, leaking cock.
I reach out to touch it, and it pulses, jumping toward me.
“You don’t have to do anything, Oskar,” he says, his voice more serious.
“I’ve waited a long time to do this.”
“In that case, okay. I don’t want to deny you years of curiosity or anything.”
“That’s generous of you.”
I kneel down. His cock juts out between his thighs.
I hesitate.
“Just lick it a little,” he says, and my shoulders ease. “Feel it with your lips and tongue. I, um, want to see it in your mouth.”
“You do?”
“You’re beautiful, Oskar. Of course, I want to see your lips around my cock.”
I suck it into my mouth tentatively, wishing I’d been reading how to guides in my office before he entered. My heart pounds, and I think about all the people who’ve done this to him before me.
I dart my gaze upward, and his eyes are soft.
“Oskar...” He ruffles my hair with his hand, his every movement tender.
I focus on the feel of his cock in my mouth. He tastes salty, and I swallow, eager to get more of the taste.
“Yeah... Like that.” His cock hits my throat. He’s not all the way in, but he places my hands on his balls, which are tighter than before. “Play with these.”
I move my fingers over his balls as I inhale and suck on his cock. My heart thrums. His cock pulses.
I can’t believe this is happening. I move my hands under his balls, holding them lightly. I want to memorize everything about this moment.
“Just like that,” he murmurs.
I try to remember what he did last night and try to apply a similar suction.
It works.
His breaths become shorter, noisier, rising above the hum of the air conditioner and the faint scent of eucalyptus in the air.
He moves his fingers through my hair, his tender motions becoming more frantic, like he wants to ascertain that I’m there.
And then all of a sudden, he jerks up and pulls his cock out of my mouth. I whine, because I still want to have him in my mouth, but then I stare, transfixed, as his cock jerks and jumps, white shooting from it.
The salty scent is now in the air.
“Shit,” he murmurs, staring at the aftermath.
His cheeks are now flushed pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a happy manner. He grins at me.
“Was that...?”
“It was good, baby.” He pulls me toward him, then kisses the top of my head. My heart pounds and sweat prickles my spine. He reaches his hand toward me and pulls me on top of him. I grind against him, protected by his large figure. He kisses me, but then I feel his hands reaching down and unbuckling my belt, lowering my zipper, and rounding his hand around my member.
His hand is warm, and he moves with the same confidence he carries in everything he does.
