Page 73 of Whiskey Throttle
“Fuck, Babs.”
His voice is deep, affected. I use my mouth and hands to create a tunnel. Elongating the sloppy wetness with a twist of my wrist. His breath stops when I pull back and sucks in when I slide back down on it. His fingertips tangle into my hair. Not to control or guide. I know exactly what I’m doing. His stance widens when I stroke toward his anus. My saliva and his leaking precum collect on his balls. I use it as fluid, testing to see what he likes and dislikes. Not severe like last time, just exploratory to catalog for the future.
The future we both agreed upon.
With my lips pulled tight over the head, my fist tight over his shaft, and my palm cupping his balls, I stroke over his hole. He jumps, swears under his breath, but moves back over my finger. It’s getting me so horny and turned on, I’ll run naked through his house to grab condoms. Although I’m still in my sundress, so it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Little sinner indeed.”
I keep everything going, but gaze up at him. His mouth is slack, his eyes glued to his cock, watching as it disappears into my mouth and loving every fucking minute of it by the panting of his chest. His hips are rocking opposite my rhythm, creating the perfect coordinated effort to get him off.
He always says I’m stunning, but looking up at him with a light sweat covering his many tattoos, stretched over carved muscles, he’s the ancient god I thought a moment ago.
When my finger pushes against the tight ring of his anus, he clenches down hard. More instinctive reflex than disapproving. It’s hot. Taboo. Wetness pours out of me. Bringing him pleasure is turning me on all over again. A guttural groan rips from his throat as I apply the slightest pressure.
His cock swells even more in my mouth. His grip on my hair tightens, stabilizing himself as his knees threaten to buckle. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing through his shaft. His body trembles with restraint.
“Barbara.”
My name is a plea on his lips.
A whispered prayer to a deity he’s not sure he should be summoning. I can see the war in his eyes, the struggle between wanting to let go and the fear of what that means. His hips move more erratically. His control slips as he chases the sensation my mouth and hands are providing. He’s close. His breath hitches.
Deep blue eyes lock onto mine, a silent conversation passing between us. He’s asking for permission, seeking approval for liking the taboo. I give it to him, a slight nod, a soft hum against his hard shaft. I don’t judge what he likes. I just record it mentally.
His eyes flutter closed, his head falls back, and his body shudders as he lets go. His release is hot and salty on my tongue. I swallow every drop, my eyes never leaving his face. He’s beautiful, always, but in his abandonment, he’s gorgeous. A god to his goddess on her knees.
His hand loosens in my hair, moving forward to caress my cheek. When his pumping hips still, I retract my finger and slowly slide my mouth off him. My lips linger on his tip until he opens his eyes. Relief coats his face and posture. The careless grin he wears most suddenly appears.
“That was . . .”
He doesn’t need to finish. I saw the result. Proud I could get him off so well, as he normally does me. I love giving head, but I often feel left wanting and unsatisfied after going first. A thought I dismiss as he’ll be ready to go again in a matter of minutes. Such a plus side to being young and healthy.
His hand moves to my arm, helping me to my feet, and immediately pulls me into a tight embrace. His heart pounds against my chest. His breath is hot on my neck when he buries his face there.
“Incredible,” he murmurs with a few slow kisses to the space behind my ear.
I can feel his smile, his relief, his ease. I run my hands up his back, feeling the slick sweat and the hard muscles.
“I’m glad you think so.”
It’s all I can think to say. He pulls back, giving me an odd look.
“Glad you think so?”
He parrots my words, then swats my ass. Playful and teasing.
“It’s not high tea with the Queen, my little sinner. You can say some vulgar shit about what you just did.”
I smile sweetly at him, knowing exactly what he wants.
“I need to wash my filthy finger.”
CHAPTER 19
HOLLISTER
The rainy weather passed hours ago. The time passed quickly with sex, eating, napping, a shower somewhere in there, and more sex. Even though the storms outside have passed, the one inside me is still raging.
