Page 67 of Whiskey Throttle
“Now open wide, my little sinner.”
She exhales. Her hands curl around the edge, holding her steady while I shove my shoulders between her thighs. Her hips are narrow, perfect for her frame, not so perfect for my bulky body.
She balances a foot on the top of my shoulder. Her toes curl into my muscles at the first lick. Her honey pot is sweet and almost unscented. Not honey at all. More distinct and distracting than that.
When her hand tangles into my hair, I close my eyes and drink her in. With every suckle, sip, and nip of her pussy, I’m falling. Fast, hard, and straight into her. Straight into the madness of her body and the pleasure it readily gives me. I’ve yet to test her, but I’m pretty sure she’ll do anything I ask. As addicted as I am to her, my goal is to make her equally addicted to me.
I love eating pussy.
She loves being eaten.
It’s damn near perfect.
I open my eyes, look up to see her mouth hanging in half-opened pleasure. Her eyes are glazed over, watching me eat her out. Her fingers are still tangled in my hair, not pulling me to her like before. Just resting there for closeness or connection.
She’s so damn wet. The banter and competition I planned does precisely what I thought. Breaking down the awkwardness of last night and turning her on again. It’s so easy to read her sexually, but emotionally, I’m still left in the cold. Something I aim to change by the end of the weekend.
I won’t tell her how I’m feeling. Not yet. I want her to feel more before that happens. But I can give her the best fucking sex of her life to convince her to stay with me. To be mine, as scary as that is to me too.
Her body tightens when I hum against her clit. My tongue laps at her folds, licking every corner and crevice as she twists in and away from the pleasure. It’s not enough to get her off. Not yet, at least.
My face is soaked when I move it away. Leaving her exposed to the cold air of the range. Her fingers tighten, now pulling on my hair, which I shake loose. She frowns.
“What?”
“Beg, Babs. Tell me you want me.”
I kiss her ankle. Her foot still presses into my shoulder for leverage. But without any part of me touching her, she’s shifting and trying to draw me closer. It’s not happening until I hear her say what I want.
“You called me Junior. I called you, baby. Is that how you feel?”
I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I watch her reaction. Waiting to see if it swings in my favor or not.
My cock is leaking in my pants. The anticipation of pushing into her raw is tempting. I didn’t bring condoms down here. I didn’t plan for this to happen. No fucking way, I’m killing the moment by jogging back to my room to get some.
“No,” she finally answers.
Then she one-ups me when her dark red fingernails connect with her clit, swirling gently into her flesh. My eyes snap from her face to her pussy. Zeroing in on how light her touch is, how delicately she teases her own flesh. I’m mesmerized. Watching at eye level, failing to look at her face.
Damn, if this isn’t the prettiest fucking sight.
“But it’s how you make me feel.”
My eyes fight to stay on her fingers teasing her clit, getting herself worked up for me.
“What do you mean?”
I need to clarify. Need to know why pet names set her off. Even while she’s playing with herself. I bite her inner thigh, light and playful, but my gaze connects with hers.
“You make me feel young again.”
Her mouth parts, hitting a pleasurable spot from the looks of it. Another soft bite from me. Another half smile from her. A game between us. Always a competition with her. I damn near love it.
“You are young.”
Bite.
“Sexy.”
