Page 146 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“It’s the best thing,” I assure him. “I’m obsessed with the way you smell.”
I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, a flat, slow lick from base to tip. He groans, the sound raw and unfiltered. I thrill at the power, the way I can reduce this man to pure want. I take him into my mouth, just the head at first, swirling my tongue, tasting him. He fists his hands against the couch and mutters a curse, his whole body tensing.
I take him deeper, slow and methodical, letting myself adjust to the stretch, the slight burn at the edges of my mouth. He’s almost too big for me, but I want the challenge, want to push myself for him, for us. I use my hand to stroke the base while my lips and tongue work the rest. The noises he makes are guttural, reverent, helpless. They send sparks of heat through my body.
I look up and see him staring down at me, eyes wild, jaw slack, breathing like he’s run a marathon. He brushes my hair back, gentle despite his size, and cups my face with a hand.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “You know that, right?”
Not breaking rhythm, I hum an answer. I want to please him, to make him lose every ounce of composure. If only for a minute, I want to erase the pain his mother left him with. I take him deeper, tilting my chin and relaxing my throat. He lets out a strangled gasp, hands flying to my shoulders like he’s afraid he might hurt me. Or worse, lose himself entirely.
I keep going, wanting to see him undone. I want to be the person who gets to do that for him, who gets to see all the parts he hides from everyone else.
He strokes my hair, running his fingers through it, and I sense the effort it’s taking him not to just grab and fuck my mouth harder. But he’s holding back, for me. It makes me want to give even more. I moan around him, letting the vibration travel through his cock. He bucks his hips involuntarily, almost losing it.
I pull off, gasping for air, and look up at him. “You can. I can take it.”
He hesitates, eyes searching mine for sincerity. He’s always unsure about going harder, being himself. Maybe he’s afraid that he’ll hurt me. I’m a big girl though. I can stand up for myself. Plus, I trust him to listen if I say no.
I hate that he holds himself eternally in check. The urge to drive it out of his head rides me. “Stand up,” I implore, my voice breathy. “Use me, Hux.”
His eyes going dark, he stands up, towering over me. With one hand on the back of my head, he guides himself back into my mouth. This time he sets the rhythm, slow at first, then building, always watching my face for the slightest sign of discomfort. He’s careful, but he’s also losing control, and I love it.
“Fuck, Juliet. Your mouth is so perfect.” He groans. “I’ve been dreaming about you marking my cock with your pretty red lipstick for too long.”
My knees dig into the rug, and my jaw aches. My eyes water as he hits the back of my throat, but I don’t stop. I take it, again and again, until his voice turns desperate, until he’s cursing and praising me in the same breath.
“Good girl. See how well you take my cock?” He fists my hair. “I can’t wait to taste you, sweetheart.”
I’m perfect, I’m a good girl, I’m his.I want all of it. Every word, sound, and piece of him.
I run my hand down his thigh, knowing he can feel my pulse through my fingertips. I’m aware of how much I crave the illusion of control. But I want just this once to surrender. I want to let him take and take and take until there’s nothing left of me but raw nerves.
“Jesus, Monroe...” he starts, but he’s helpless to finish the thought. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, working my tongue in slow, measured swipes beneath the ridge, then dragging my lips back up, teasing the tip. He says my name like a prayer, over and over, each syllable more desperate than the last.
I could draw this out forever, but my need is as sharp as a blade, impatient and greedy. I take him deeper, swallowing inch after impossible inch, until I bury my nose against the sharp heat of his hip bone and his cock fills my throat. He’s too big for me, but I want to prove that I can handle it, that I can handle him.
I can handle Hunter Huxleyanyway he gives himself to me.
He’s close, I can tell. His thighs tense, his hand trembles in my hair, and his voice turns frantic, spilling out confessions in a rush. “You’re so perfect—fuck, I never—I can’t?—”
There’s a panic in his pleasure, a vulnerability I’ve never seen in him before, as if he’s terrified of what he might do or say if he really lets go.
I want to see him break. I want to be the reason for it. So I grip his hips and pull him in, all the way, until my nose is pressed to his belly and my throat is full. I gag, choke, cough, but I don’t tap out. I dig my nails into his skin and moan, letting the vibration push him further.
He can’t hold back anymore. A groan escapes him, perhaps my name, as hot, salty cum fills my throat. He holds himself there, just for a few seconds, then pulls out slowly so that I can gasp for air. He strokes my jaw, thumb brushing away a tear, and says, “You okay?”
Swallowing, I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “Never better, baby.”
Time to recover is overrated. He yanks me up off my knees and paws at my hips until my skirt and panties tangle around my ankles. He strips my flimsy bra off too, then leads me to his bedroom.
He’s had his bedframe replaced, I note with some small amount of pride. We could just break this one again. It soundsfun.
Inside his room, Hunter turns and cages me against the wall, his mouth crashing down on mine. He tastes sharp and familiar. A hint of sweetness from my mouth, the faintest spice of vanilla, and the metallic tang of his cum. He kisses me until I’m dizzy and clutching at him for balance, until my legs threaten to collapse.
“Hux,” I gasp. “I really need you to touch me.”
Hunter tosses me onto the bed. I let out a squeak. It’s fun being with agiant. He stands at the edge of the mattress, cock jutting against his thigh, watching me with a focus so intense it makes me self-conscious. For a moment I panic, hyperaware of every exposed inch of skin, every imperfection, that my tits aren’t perky and I have stretch marks on my thighs. But he just drinks me in, eyes greedy, smiling like I’m the first and last thing he’ll ever want.
