Page 69 of Slots & Sticks
Dot settles between my thighs like she’s been doing this forever, but I can see the nerves behind her boldness—her hands hover at my zipper for a second, then she sucks in a breath, and undoes the button with a snap that echoes in my brain.
Her fingers brush over the bulge in my boxers, and I groan, head falling back. “Dot—”
She pulls me out slowly, carefully, like she’s unwrapping a present. Her eyes go wide, and then she smiles. “Huh. No wonder you were walking funny.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. I’m not gonna survive this.
She wraps her hand around me, gives one tentative stroke, then another. Her fingers tighten a little, and that’s when my hips twitch. She catches it, grinning like she unlocked a cheat code.
And then she leans in.
The first touch of her mouth makes my thighs jump. Her lips are warm, soft, reverent. She licks a little circle over the head, and I swear I see stars.
She pulls back a sliver to whisper, “This okay?”
“Dot,” I rasp, grabbing the couch cushion like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this plane of existence. “You’re perfect.”
Encouraged, she goes deeper. Not all at once—slowly, learning me with her tongue, with the curve of her lips, until I’mpanting like I’ve run a goddamn marathon. One hand grips my thigh, the other pumps in sync with her mouth. And her eyes—God, those big brown eyes stay locked on mine, like she wants to see what she’s doing to me.
She doesn’t have to guess.
I’m falling apart.
“You look…” I can barely choke the words out. “So fucking beautiful like this.”
She hums around me, and that vibration nearly ends me. My hips buck before I can stop them. She doesn't flinch. Takes it. Takes me. And her confidence grows with every pass of her tongue, every sound I make.
Dot pulls back enough to lick a stripe up the underside, her eyes gleaming. “You taste good,” she whispers, genuinely surprised. Then she goes back down, deeper this time. Hollowing her cheeks. Letting spit gather. Letting me lose my fucking mind.
I groan her name. “Dot—baby, if you keep that up, I’m gonna—”
Her response? A low, satisfied moan that wraps around my cock and yanks me over the edge.
I curse. Loud. I try to warn her again, but she doesn’t move. She wants it. And when I come—hard—she takes every drop. Keeps sucking through it, gentle now, greedy and soft, licking me clean like she’s memorizing the way I taste.
When she finally pulls back, her lips are flushed, her mouth wet, her eyes bright with mischief and pride.
I stare at her, chest heaving, ruined. Absolutely fucking drunk on her.
Dot wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “So… was that okay?”
I can’t answer. I just pull her up into my lap and kiss her like I’m never letting her go. Because I’m not.
I kiss her hair, breathe her in, and I know—this was never just a crush. Not some teenage infatuation I outgrew. Dot’s the girl who made everything else feel like waiting. She’s not the one I fell for; she’s the one I was made for. Every version of me—awkward kid, cocky rookie, stubborn man—all of me has always belonged to her. And maybe she doesn’t know it yet. But I do. I always have.
Chapter Sixteen
Dot
I’m trying to teach the dogs to play fetch, and it’s not going well. When I throw the little plush toy that looks like a raccoon butt, Bo is content to watch it arc through the air across the room from the comfort of her bed. Skinbad will happily chase it, barking his head off all the while, but when it lands, the barking continues. Sometimes he’ll go so far as to drop his chest to the floor and wag his own butt high in the air. God forbid he touches it with his mouth, though.
“Fetch, boy!” I urge.
Skinbad grabs the toy, shakes it a few times, then gives up and wanders back to me to see what I’ll do next.
“Okay, let’s try the little squeaky ball.” I pull out a small fuzzy ball that looks like a miniature Death Star. Skinbad eyes it dubiously but seems unimpressed. I squeak it twice to see if the sound is appealing.
Despite Skinbad’s opinion on the matter, Bo immediately cocks her head to one side. I whip the ball across the room.
