Page 65 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
He's still picturing yesterday. Watching me touch myself left him starving, and now even a whisper of contact threatens to undo him.
I edge forward. My lips brush the skin of his thigh as I whisper, "You sure you don't want it?" My tongue slips out, tracing the seam where his balls rest against the base of his cock.
"Oh, fuck, Jenna." His voice breaks. It's not a demand anymore—it's a plea.
"I can stop anytime you want," I murmur, smiling as I swirl my tongue in slow, teasing circles around him. His hands clench, his jaw tight. He thought seeing me on my knees would mean submission—but I'm the one in control now.
I decide when, and how, and whether he comes.
And I'm going to make him pay for trying to seduce me like this.
I draw one ball into my mouth, sucking gently, moaning at the warm, clean taste of him. I love the scent of his cologne, the deeper masculine musk beneath it. I take my time, savoring it, breathing him in while my tongue explores every tense, ridged vein of his shaft.
"Jenna," he rasps, grabbing my hair. The hold isn't rough, just enough to warn how close he is. I don't care. He won't come until I say so.
I keep my slow, merciless rhythm even as he growls and mutters, "Faster."
Instead, I wrap my hand loosely around his length, barely skimming the tip while he curses and tightens his grip on my hair. He's begging without realizing it, trying to hold back and failing.
I ignore him, running the flat of my tongue up the thick column until I reach the swollen crown. Then I flick the tip lightly, fast and sharp.
"Oh God." His back arches; his eyes flash down at me, glittering and wild.
He has no idea what I'll do next, and that uncertainty drives him crazy. Every time I change rhythm, he groans and digs his head into the couch, muscles trembling.
When I finally close my lips around him and start to suck in earnest, the sound that tears from his chest is unlike anything I've ever heard. It's raw, primal, and it feeds me.
He grips tighter, enough to sting, but the small pain only makes me hungrier. I push myself deeper, jaw straining, loving the way his breath breaks apart into harsh gasps and ragged pleas.
Even now, in the middle of it, he's still careful—his thrusts restrained, protective, never forcing more than I can take. That care makes me love it even more.
"Jenna," he warns again, voice cracking. "Fuck, Jenna!"
"Say it," I whisper against his skin. "Say it, and I'll let you come."
He grits his teeth, fighting me to the end. His lips press together, a last act of defiance. I smile against him, then scrape my teeth just lightly beneath the sensitive rim.
His body jerks, a raw curse bursts out. "Fuck me, Jenna—alright, alright… you win!"
Triumph sparks through me. I swallow him down as he comes, hot and pulsing, filling my mouth in desperate waves. His whole body shudders as if the orgasm is tearing him apart.
I stay there, letting him empty every drop, then finally lift my head and meet his eyes. His chest heaves; his face is flushed, undone.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The only sound is our breathing—his ragged, mine trembling.
And when he finally reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek, I can't tell if it's gratitude, affection, or surrender. Maybe all three.
Whatever it is, I feel it sink straight through me, deeper than lust, heavier than logic—something I probably shouldn't name.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 20
Grayson
Istare down at this woman sleeping so gently in my arms.
Just a few minutes ago, she was screaming her release to the ceiling as my tongue took her pussy over the edge, wringing out climax after climax. It had been a long, intense session, and she drifted off so quickly after the final orgasm that for a second I thought she'd passed out.
