Page 51 of The Sky in Summer
“Get the motor running!” He sings it loud, while dancing into the room. “On the fucking highway!”
Per usual, he doesn’t know any of the lyrics past the first line and la la la’s his way through. But the comical striptease he is doing is sexy, so I forgive him the itsy-bitsy flaw.
I have my knees up and the blanket clenched to my chest. This is a floorshowworthy of applause. My eyes lift to his. And then they go lower. That’s where they keep landing. What woman would be able to look away from a god’s body?
Van is a better dancer than a singer, and a better stripper than both.
“Slower!”
He likes my command and turns it to his advantage. Instead of continuing with the Steppenwolf classic, he speaks to Alexa.
“Alexa, Layla’s Playlist.”
“Playing Layla’s Playlist”
As soon as the first few notes sound, my heart skips a beat with the knowledge he made music for us. The first song is soulful and smooth. “Leave The Door Open” by Bruno Mars and Silk Sonic, pairs with his slow approach to the bed.
“Oh baby, oh baby,” he sings.
“I love that you made this,” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer, but unzips. I whistle a good one in appreciation. His eyebrows lift. He knows something I don’t. Pushing the shorts down, inch by inch, I realize he is not wearing briefs.
“Oh yeah, big boy! Release the hound!!”
“Let’s not play no game,” he sings.
He drops them in a dramatic movement. He stands perfectly still, but his cock has decided to continue the dance. It lifts in time with the slow beat of the sexy song.
“That is impressive,” I say and mean it. “Come here, Magic Mike. I want you in my mouth.”
All fucking around stops. No more moving to the music and the sexy striptease ends. He comes to the side of the bed and waits. I lower the blanket and expose my breasts. The song rises in my heart, every lyric hitting the mark.
“Uh huh,” he mutters. “More.”
The covers get thrown aside, and now there is nothing hidden. His cock hardens and lifts in a silent review. I move to the edge of the bed and spread my legs around his. Hands go to his fine ass, and I feel its shape.
“I like this view,” he says through clenched teeth.
When I take his cock in my hand, he gathers my hair and lifts it away from my face. With one fist, he keeps it above my head. Then my lips meet the tip. God. My tongue plays with the little hole and circles the entire fucking thing. I open wide and lower my head onto it. Sucking softly, from base to head.
‘God. Fuck,” he whispers.
His manhood is something to be loved by mouth and tongue and hand. I try to give it its due. I lick and suck. Softly. Up and around, gently squeezing and releasing. The wet makes the pump smooth.
Legs widen and he lifts to meet my mouth. Balls get their play too. Sometimes when I deep throat him, or try, I hold his balls and knead in the most delicate way. There’s always a feeling I get like it turns him on to think I might decide to be rougher. When he least expects it to happen. Like now.
“Oh! Fuck yeah. Fuck!”
There is a weird half pleasure half fear sound accompanying the words.
Still he holds my hair, but now his other hand has a fistful too. I drop the balls and attend to the main show. Every so often, when I reach the head, I play with the underside of the ridge surrounding. Right over the alpha vein. The reaction is immediate. But to overdo is to lessen the impact and deaden the sensation. So, I tease it and leave it. And he does not know when I will return.
Using just my hand I stroke him in a steady rhythm at the tempo he loves. It makes me feel fucking hot to know I have his pleasure in the palm of my hand. Literally. When he lifts to quicken the pace, I know he is close. The jaw tightens and his breathing quickens.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah!”
I return to the sucking, going deep and steady until his entire body tenses.
