Page 142 of Beautifully Ruined
And I want him hard.
I go down and lick him, and he starts to grow. It’s wonderful, and my head gets a little giddy with the power of it.
If I had restraints, I’d tie him down and have my way with him.
This isn’t a fantasy of mine. Or it wasn’t, but right now, with him getting harder with each lick, it’s fast becoming one.
I take him into my mouth and start to suck, bobbing up and down.
He tastes like us, like the shower we also had before having sex again. He’s so big now, stretching my mouth, and I want to make him come, I want to do it by myself, without his guidance, without?—
“Jesus, woman. Normally, I’d be mad about being woken in the middle of the night.”
I suck harder, the twitching cock and precum making my pussy throb and my clit start to ache in that delicious way. The one that means I can taste gratification, that holding off on my own pleasure to give him some means mine will be amazing.
Normally, Cade always makes sure I come unless it’s a game he’s playing and edging me. But this time, I want the control. All of it.
Over him. And his orgasm. Over mine.
I bob down, taking him deep, pushing past the gag reflex that begins, not stopping, and I hold him there, in my throat, swallowing over him that salty clean taste that’s just a little bit dirty from after shower games.
It’s irresistible.
He hisses in a breath, then groans. “When I can get it, I like my sleep. Fuck! But I’ll take your mouth swallowing my cock any day.
I slide back up, coughing, needing to breathe. Everything’s so wet, slippery and I jack him off a little as I lick and suck the head of his cock. And then when he lets out a groan that’s full of want and need. “Fuck, Violet.”
His hand touches my hair, and I pull off his cock.
“No. I want to do this. You pretend I’ve tied you up.”
In the low light of the room, I look at him and don’t miss his amused look or the half smile. But he lays back, hands behind his head. “Like this?”
“Just like that. Don’t move. Or else.”
“God, the threats,” he breathes. “I’ll obey.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Think of me more as your willing captive.”
I continue with my ministrations, and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever really loved blow jobs before. At least, not like I do with him.
Everything about it turns me on, from the way he fills my mouth and throat, and the way he tastes and feels, to the power that courses through me.
I’m the one causing his moans and groans, the stiffening of his muscles as he fights cumming. And I work to make him to it. Make him cum down my throat. I take him deep, so deep, and I ignore all the saliva, and the way my reflex is in overtime.
And then he stiffens completely, the warmth of his cum hitting my throat, and I pull back a little to get the taste the salt of him, and I swallow him down.
I slowly come off him, holding his deflating cock and, as he moves, I whisper, “no.”
Now I start the torture game. I’m not good at it. Not like he is, that sweet spot he can hit and hold in me.
So, I just lick him, slowly running my fingers up and down his length, moving to the tip to suck and make him jump.
But he’s like me. Responsive, so responsive. Maybe it’s just how we click, this sexual compatibility, this way we can come together and fulfill every single glorious second of sex so easily.
And the sex is so hot between us I know he’ll be hard and ready for me in minutes, so I just revel in the moment.
