Page 25 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“Bet you’ve never had to look very hard.”
He grins. “No, not really.”
“So when you jack off…how do you do it?” I have his boots off, and his socks, and now I tug his jeans off, tossing them aside. He grabs his shirt by the back of the collar and hauls it off, and now he’s standing between my knees in a pair of tight black briefs. “I mean, if you don’t watch porn, how do you get yourself there?”
He scrapes his hair away from his eyes with both hands, a slow, sexy swipe of his fingers over his scalp. “I have a few photos and videos I use—not taken by me, just…saved for that use. Or sometimes I just think about something recent. A visual memory, know what I mean?”
I grin, nodding. “I do know what you mean. For example, this will probably be a visual memory I’ll use a lot down the road.”
“What is?”
I pull the elastic waistband away from his erection and slide the black undergarment down to his ankles, baring his huge, glorious cock. I wrap my fist around him, keeping my eyes on his. “This.”
He swallows. “Oh.” His jaw clenches. “Yeah…me too.”
There’s a hesitation in his statement, though, and I catch it. “What?” I ask.
He frowns. “What, what?”
“You hesitated just then.”
He steps closer, reaches down to grab the hem of my top and drags it off me, tossing it behind him. A deft movement of his hands, and I feel my bra come loose; he breaks my grip on him so he can remove the bra from my arms and toss it aside, and now we’re both naked.
“There,” he says. “Now it’s a memory I’ll never fucking forget.”
“What—the taste of my pussy isn’t enough?” I say, teasing.
He answers with all seriousness, however. “Not by a long shot.” Franco’s hands cup my breasts, thumbs running over my nipples. “These perfect tits of yours are the coup de grace.”
I can’t help a flattered smile. “I see. I’m glad I could deliver the coup de grace for your spank bank memories.” I wrap my fingers around him again. “But I wasn’t done creating my own.”
“Let me guess…you’re finally gonna show me what you can do with your mouth?”
His words bring back a stark, vivid memory of yesterday morning. I shrug—and again, the movement draws his gaze. “Could be. You’ll have to stand very, very still in order to find out.”
He just blinks at me, and then his eyes rake lasciviously down from my eyes to my breasts, to my core, and then to my hands as I wrap both of them around him, stroking him slowly. He huffs a quiet sigh, a sound of pleasure as I start touching him. His jaw flexes, clenches, and I see his fingers twitch with the need to touch me, to take control.
He cedes it to me, however. At least for the moment.
I have no illusions about how this will go—he’ll let me take him to a certain point, but then he’ll take over. I know his type, and I know he won’t want to “waste” it by letting me take him all the way. Not in a situation like this, at least. I file that thought away—if this goes any further beyond tonight, I’ll think about trying to get him to let me take him all the way.
For now, I’m willing to let him do things mostly his way—I just want to get through this without getting myself into worse trouble, feelings-wise.
This is already an unwise decision, to sleep with Franco again. I’m not even sure how we got here—it was just… I just find myself unable to resist him, which frustrates me to no end.
But he’s listening, so far—he’s absolutely still. Breathing evenly, watching my hands slide up and down, slowly, squeezing now and then, cupping over the head and twisting back down. Thumbing the tip, just exploring the length of him in a way I didn’t get to last night—that was a hot and heavy and a wild rampage of sex with little thought to technique or exploration, just abandonment to raw need.
This is different.
I’ve given up pretending I didn’t know this was going to happen—why else would I have shaved my hoo-ha, or put on my most expensive lingerie? I wouldn’t have agreed to this whole evening had I not known, at least on some level, that it would go exactly where it’s going. More to the point—I wanted it to go here.
I told Franco I have a three strikes rule, which is true. But the truth is, that’s my maximum limit, and most guys don’t get that far. I get tired of them after one. I rarely find a guy interesting enough, attractive enough, or good enough at making me feel good to want more than once with him. Fewer yet are the men who are all of the above. Some men have a special magic which makes me want to seek his pleasure. When it comes to sex, I’m selfish. I can afford to be, because men aren’t hard to please as a rule. Let them fuck me, and they’ll come, guaranteed, and usually it’s a case of whether he can last long enough to make it worth my while, much less want more.
