Page 28 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“Fuck, fuck, ohhhhh god, Audra, what are you—” he cuts off with a grunt, his hips helplessly thrusting. “Just give me a second to—”
“Mm-mm.” I go faster, harder, hungrier—there was something unbearably erotic about what Franco just did, and I’m giving over totally to my instinctual urges. All I care about is him, his pleasure—taking it from him. Feeling him let go, tasting his need.
I hear my mouth on him, my fists—wet slurps and suckling and squishing sounds, and I feel his body clenching, feel him holding back thrusts, hear him grunting, gasping. Instead of faster, now, I use more mouth, one fist around his base pumping rhythmically as I pulse my mouth down around him in deep, fast, wet slides of lips and tongue and throat.
“Audra—” His voice, drowning in desperation. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”
“Mmmmhhhmmmm,” I moan, urging him to let go. I cup his heavy sac and press a finger just behind it, to his taint, and stroke his thick, throbbing erection all the harder.
“Ohhhh god, Audra, Audra…”
Stop saying my name like that, dammit, with such desperate, vulnerable need.
I just moan, humming around him as I work him with mouth and hands. His next sound is a ragged cry, his hips flexing as he finally gives in to a full thrust—I wasn’t expecting it, but I take it and hum in surprise, a sound that morphs into erotic need as he finally finally lets go, lets himself move. I feel him throbbing against my lips, feel his balls tensing and clenching, and he thrusts into my throat, moving raggedly.
Lost to it.
I am—he is—we both are.
This wasn’t supposed to work like this—I could have just put a condom on him and let him finish any other way. This was supposed to be less personal, less intimate. But somehow it’s the complete opposite.
I’m not supposed to feel every pulse of his heartbeat, not supposed to crave his pleasure, not supposed to need his climax, his taste, his desperation, his fury.
“Ohhh—ohhhh fuck, Audra—Audra—”
God, his voice is raw with tormented need. He gives a final growling gasp, his fists knotting in the blankets, his back arching, his whole being taut as a piano wire—and then, he thrusts, once, pushing into my mouth. I swallowed around him and then backed away so my lips were suctioned around the groove beneath the head; pressing my middle finger just behind his taint, I stroke him furiously with my other hand.
I taste him, heat and musk and salt. Swallowing madly, I take all of him as he comes and comes, spurting thick streams into my mouth and down my throat. Swallowing, swallowing, I still can’t keep up and I feel a trickle down the corner of my mouth and over my lower lip.
One last warm flood of his seed, and then, still growling and moaning, his arms shaking, he pulls free and flops limp to his back beside me, breathing as hard as if he’d just done a hundred burpees.
His eyes are open, following me as I roll to sit up.
He reaches up, brushes the pad of his thumb over my lip, wiping away the droplets of his essence; instead of letting him wipe it somewhere or wash it away, I suck it off of his thumb. Just to prove a point, perhaps. I don’t even know, honestly.
His eyes on mine are inscrutable. Mine, I suppose, are equally so.
Neither of us says a word.
Franco gets up off the bed and goes into my bathroom; I hear the water running as he washes up, and then I hear him pee, wash his hands again, and then he exits the bathroom. Still naked, and without a word to me, he heads for the kitchen. Curious, I wait. I hear him moving around, and while I’m waiting I use the bathroom and wash, then rinse my mouth. I get back in bed then, and just in time. He enters with two wineglasses full of red wine.
No jokes about needing to wash anything down—the energy between us is solemn and heavy.
Something very serious just happened.
I accept the glass from him as he sits on the bed; we both cover our laps with the flat sheet, but otherwise make no pretense of covering up— no need, and, honestly, no desire to.
I take a long drink, and we sit in silence for a while.
“Audra, what almost just happened—”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, ducking my head to stare at the sheet. “I just—I lost it, I guess. I went a little haywire.”
“Are you—if I hadn’t stopped, are you on birth control or anything?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ve been getting a shot since they invented it. But still.”
“Exactly—but still.”
I sigh. “Nothing like that has ever happened before. I’ve never forgotten, not ever.” I swirl the ruby liquid in my glass, watching it instead of him. “I don’t know how to explain it, Franco. You just…you made me crazy.”
