by K. C. Enders
I wrap my fingers around his cock, gently stroking, feeling the weight of him in my palm. Leaning over, I kiss and lick my way down his body, sliding my hand along his hardening shaft.
“You gonna kiss it or just rile it up?” Jack’s voice is gravelly and full of sleep. His question turns to a deep groan as I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his ridge. “Fuck,” he hisses as I take him as deep as I dare.
There is nothing good about gagging or puking when giving a blow job. Nothing.
“Jesus, Kate, let me … ung … babe … oh fuck …” he groans, reaching for the nightstand, fumbling for his wallet.
I pop his dick from my lips and lick slowly, languorously from his heavy balls to the very tip. And, from there, I just keep going, crawling up his body until I’m straddling him, rubbing up and down his steely length. Never have I had this kind of craving for someone. The way he moved me, played me, owned me was like nothing I have ever experienced.
“Need a condom,” he murmurs against my neck, hands firmly grasping my hips.
I agree. We need a gross of them.
“Mmm, out. Used ’em,” he tells me while sucking on the dip of my collarbone.
With hands planted firmly on his pecs, I push myself up and off of him. “Two? That’s all you had?”
Jack cocks an eyebrow at me, running his hands up and down my thighs.
“It’s fine,” I say, climbing off him. “I’ve got backups.”
I dig around in my bag and pull out my condom stash. A girl can’t be too prepared, no matter how long and bad her dry spell is. I toss one of the packages to him and place the rest on the nightstand. We are so going to need them before this night is done.
“What the hell is this?” Jack asks, holding up the purple foil square, a smirk plastered on his face.
“Protection?”
“You get them from a vending machine or something? Are these a joke?” He pushes himself up until his back’s against the headboard. “We use this shit on the barrel of our weapons in the desert. Keeps the sand out, but, babe, this ain’t gonna work here.”
“It’s a condom. What’s not gonna work?” I climb on his lap and take the package from him, tearing it open. When I try to apply the condom, it becomes abundantly clear what Jack’s trying to get at. It’s obviously not what he had in his wallet.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered by your enthusiasm or concerned that you’ve just not been properly serviced.”
He has the damn nerve to laugh. I mean, I knew right away there was more to him than I was used to, but honestly.
“Humble you are not,” I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. This has to work.
“Can be when it’s warranted.”
Chapter 8
Jack
“KATE, BABY, LET ME just throw on some clothes and go …”
She’s trying to kill me. I’m absolutely going to die right here.
“It’s fine. I got it. Hang on.” She’s motivated, seriously motivated. “There,” she huffs out, lifting up on her knees and rubbing my head through her folds.
“Kinda tight, Kate,” I groan as she slides down until I’m fully seated, balls deep.
Her pussy is nothing short of heaven. All nonessential thoughts scatter from my brain, and all my focus is drawn to this woman and the things she’s doing to me. Watching her tits bounce as she rides me is a recipe for premature disaster, and there is no way in hell we’re going through putting another pencil-sized wrapper on my junk. I grab hold of her ass and flip us over because, with as good as she feels, I need to be in some kind of control.
Slowing things down, I pump my hips and drop down onto my elbows, and I swear on all that is good and holy that some of the pressure dissipates. Maybe it’s the workup, maybe the change in angle, but the relief is the sweetest. Suddenly, the torture of getting wrapped becomes worth it, and no matter how much thinking about said torture should dial things back for me, this feels more. Infinitely better. I snake my arms under Kate’s back, pressing her to me, giving a little extra shove at the end of each thrust, making damn certain I’m bottoming out. Every. Single. Time.
“Lawd-’a’-mercy, Jack …”
My sentiments exactly.
“Kate …” I’m not gonna last much longer.
“Close. Oh God, so close …”
And, like I fucking planned it, I feel her muscles clamp down on me, squeezing, massaging, pushing me right the fuck over the edge. Poetry in motion, we both get racked by waves of ecstasy that I sure as shit have never experienced before in my life.
“Why was that so good?” Kate asks, her words breathy and muffled by my shoulder.
I’m probably on the verge of crushing her, but, for fuck’s sake, I saw stars, and I’m not sure I can even move yet. Instead of responding, I grunt and reach deep within myself to thrust into her one last time before pulling out and letting the poor girl breathe.
“It was probably the special prophylactic I provided,” she mumbles, arm falling over her eyes.
“Kate?” Jesus, no. You have got to fucking be kidding me. “You on the pill? Something?”
“No. Why?” she asks, opening her eyes, trailing them down to my dick. “Oh hell.”
There’s no denying why that felt so good. I sit back on my heels, shaking my head because that prophylactic has become problematic.
“Well, you just busted right through that thing, didn’t you?” Her gaze bounces from my cock to my eyes and back again. “Obliterated it. I mean, you just fucked right out the other side …”
“Goddamn it. Not funny, Katelyn,” I warn. I don’t like the edge in my voice, but this is not good. It goes against everything I’ve fucking planned for myself. “If you weren’t dating pencil-dicked douche bags—”
“Hey now. It’s not like you’re the only one this affects. Are you even clean? That thing”—she waves at my still-hard dick—“could be diseased for all I know.”
“Checked regularly and has never jumped without a parachute. And what about you, huh? I’m not sure I like the odds of Appletini Guy being all that hygienically aware.”
She slowly blinks at me, like she’s either processing what I said or getting ready to slap me. After several more owl-like blinks, Kate scowls and pushes herself up to sitting, almost nailing me in the junk when she folds her legs Indian style—or whatever the fuck they’re calling it in kindergarten these days. “A: no. Just no. He sure as hell was not getting with me. In fact, it’s been a lifetime, thank you very much. And B: we just did the deed in the wild. Unprotected. No goalie in the net.”
“Yeah? What’s that look like? What’s my risk factor there?” My heart is pounding, panic threatening to pull me over the edge from kind of an asshole to full-on fucking prick.
She looks completely offended but counts in her head, eyes focusing on the ceiling in concentration. Meanwhile, I try to roll the useless thing off.
“Your risks should be okay, cycle-wise, and since you’re so damn concerned with me, mine should be the same.”
She deserves to be pissed. I might have gone further into prick territory than I thought.
“What are you doing?”
Dying. I’m dying of dick asphyxiation. Strangulation of my schlong. “Trying to get this off. Christ, it’s like—”
“A cock ring,” she says, snorting. “Is it supposed to be turning that color? Guess I know where the whole eggplant-emoji thing came from because I feel like that’s what I’m looking at.”
“Jesus fuck, Kate. Can you help me here? Gonna have to cut this shit off.” I fall forward, hand on the headboard to brace myself because, really? I think I could pass out right about now. “You got some scissors in that bag?”
She slides off the bed and digs through her tote. “You bet your sweet ass I do,” she sasses triumphantly. “Here we go. Turn around for me, darlin’.”
I fall to the side and sprawl across the bed, blankets rucked up behind my back. “Hold real still now.”
There is no way in hell I could have prepared for what I see coming at my junk. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re a goddamn kindergarten teacher. Where are your safety scissors?” I put one hand out to stop her and protectively clutch my really unhappy Mr. Happy with the other.
“What?” she asks, obviously not getting just how sensitive this situation is.
I swear to God, I fight to keep my shit together, staring down at the glinting metal of the biggest pair of granny shears I’ve seen in ages—since I last visited my granny, to be completely honest.
“No way you’re coming at me with those … those … weapons of mass destruction.” Ain’t nobody in the world I trust enough to come at me with that noise. “Hell, you’re a hostile with a grudge at this point. No, just hell no.”
“Jesus, Jack. What do you want me to do? Call 911? You look a little peaked—”
“Do you have—I don’t know—lotion? Coconut oil? Maybe we can grease it up and slide it off?”
Or maybe calling the EMTs really isn’t a bad option. I’d never live that shit down if it got back to my team. Holy hell, I can’t breathe.
“Here, let’s just …” Her hand glides down my length, coating me in—of course she fucking has coconut oil in that bag. “Hold on. I just need to get a good grip.” She snickers as her fingers slide over the ring of death, not gaining any purchase. “Um … wow. That, uh, might have been—”
“Counterproductive,” I finish, running through baseball stats, trying to think of my sweet granny without actually thinking of her while my cock gets impossibly harder. “Stop. Just … stop stroking me. Oh my fucking God.”
I feel bad for about a hot minute when she jumps back from me, hands up. Her lip taking some serious abuse between her teeth. But then the panic really starts setting in. I can’t think.
Of course I can’t think. There’s no blood flow to my thinking brain.
“Shower? Cold water? Um … oh,” Kate exclaims as she jumps up, grabbing the hotel robe from the back of the bathroom door. Tying it around her, she bolts out the door with the ice bucket and a room key.
Bracing myself, I limp into the bathroom, holding on to the walls the whole way. The last thing I need is to actually trip and fall on this thing. I’m not sure if it’d break in half or put an indentation in the concrete floor.
Deep, cleansing breaths.
Need to clear my mind.
It doesn’t look good, not that a raging, strangled purple—it’s fucking turning purple—dick is gonna look good in any light, but in the harsh light of the hotel bathroom, things don’t look good at all. Veins are popping out like it’s their fucking job. Slowly, carefully, I attempt to pick at the band of latex that is squeezing the lifeblood out of me.
My God, I think I really could die from this.
I should have cut my nails. They look like fucking talons ready to rip my dick to shreds. What if … what if my fingernail pierces one of the veins in my dick? Could I bleed out from that? For the love of fucks, I have got to get this thing off of my dick before I die. Or pass out. Or die.
Desperate times. I grab hold and squeeze my base with everything I have, and the damn death ring slides. Just a little. Just enough to give me some hope.
The door swings open, and I don’t even care that my ass and angry purple peen are on display for anyone who might be passing by.
“I got some ice. Let me just tie a knot in this. Holy, oh my Jesus, did your thing get bigger?” More snorting that erupts into giggles.
Pretty sure this is the least humorous thing I’ve ever experienced. Now, if I were hearing the tale from one of my soldiers, different story. I’d be laughing my ass off. And thing? She needs to pay some damn respect to my poor, suffering schlong. This situation is so bad.
“What are you … did you get it to move?” Kate asks, reaching her ice-cold hand out, spilling the ice down my front.
Cock. Balls. All of it is fucking freezing and engorged now. Surely, I’ll die soon and just be put out of my misery.
I suck air in through my teeth and glare at her. “Don’t.” I have never needed freedom like I do at this moment in time. Pulling from my untapped reserves of strength, I repeat my process.
Breathe. Grip. Squeeze. Slide.
Breathe. Grip. Squeeze. Slide.
Breathe. Grip. Squeeze. Slide.
And, by some miracle, the thing slides off, and my dick is free. Finally free. Relief floods me as I sink to the floor, the offending ring of latex discarded to the tiles.
“You okay?” Kate asks softly.
All I can do is nod, my hand gently cupping my cock. Christ, it hurts.
“What can I do?” All signs of snarkiness and sass are gone, and she gently rests a hand on my arm. “Want that shower?”
“Yeah, I think I do.” I stand slowly, appreciating my newfound freedom.
Kate leans into the shower, getting the water going, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. Biting her lip, she looks over her shoulder at me, eyes soft and caressing. She stands back and gestures to the pounding water, steam filling the small bathroom. I step under the spray, eyes closed while the warm water washes over me, still clutching my junk. It’s like I’m afraid to let it go. I almost lost it tonight, and I really am kind of attached, you know?
I startle and pop my lids up when I feel Kate’s hand slide down my arm, gently prying my hand from its protective position.
“Let me see, Jack. Move your hand.”
I move it, but don’t dare to look until I hear her gasp. Sweet mother of God, can it be that bad? I squint one eye closed and look down. Down to where Kate is on her knees in front of me, my bruised dick dangerously close to her lips.
“Does it hurt?” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the tip.
“Mmhmm.”
“You think you’ll be okay?” Her tongue darts out, licking into the slit.
A groan escapes me as I nod my damn head, watching the show play out before me.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Will you forgive me if I kiss it, make it better?”
My hand slaps the tiled wall in front of me as I fall forward, bracing myself. And, by the time her lips hit the bruised ring around my cock, the tip pushing against the back of her throat, any and all transgressions have been forgiven and forgotten.
“Darlin’, if your BJ game is that strong, you’re gonna have some bruised knees.”
And, as good as I thought it felt with her plump lips wrapped around me, when a laugh rumbles out of her, vibrations slamming down my shaft, I’m almost willing to walk through that fire again.
Chapter 9
Kate
DAMN MY SHIT LUCK. Murphy and his law have nothing on me because, when I finally meet a guy, a man, who checks all the boxes, it turns out, he’s only here for a hot minute. Or a cold month, but whatever.
Tall? Check.
Body? Check.
Manners? Check.
Decidedly straight? All the damn check marks for that one.
And leaving.
I rush through my thankfully minimal end-of-day tasks—wiping off desks, stacking chairs, and putting my room in order. I check my lesson plans and make sure all the supplies are organized for my substitute because I need a long weekend away. Pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in or arranged for a sub since I’ve been teaching, and all of those have been for real-life, actual illnesses. Let’s face it; kindergartners are cesspools of germs and have learned the art of sharing those germs like it’s the most valuable lesson going. But today, this weekend? I’m out of here.
Jack’s time here is coming to an end—his deployment fast approaching—so when he asked if I wanted to get away for a couple of days, go up to the mountains for a long weekend, I jumped at that chance. Hopped, skipped, and jumped. There might have even been a little twirl in there, but I’ll neither confirm nor deny that tidbit.
I packed my bag before work today, so that I have nothing more to do tha
n go home and change my clothes. The fifteen-minute drive seems to take far longer, and after sliding my car into a parking spot, I run up the stairs to find a tall, yummy man leaning against the window outside my apartment. Long denim-clad legs casually crossed at the ankles, Sherpa-lined barn coat, unbuttoned to reveal his charcoal-gray thermal. Dark scruff thickening into a beard. Dear God in heaven, this man is the stuff of dreams.
“Hey.” I smile, stuffing my key into the lock. “I won’t be but a quick minute. I just need to change and grab my bag.” I peek over my shoulder and startle when he’s right there behind me. “Lord, how do you do that? You scared the shit outta me.”
“Long, painful lessons and years of practice. Moving silently is a job requirement, and Jake’s dad beat the lessons home,” he says, holding the door wide open for me.
I set my tote by the door and unload my lunch bag in the kitchen before scurrying down the hall to my bedroom. “Be right out,” I toss over my shoulder and about bounce off the doorframe because something about Jack in my space has me spinning and off-balance in the very best way.
“Need any help?” Jack calls from the living room.
I pull a sweater over my head and twist my hair into a low knot. “Thanks, but pretty sure I can handle it,” I answer, grabbing the handle of my roller case. “All set. You ready to go?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, collapsing the handle and lifting my bag.
With my jacket over my arm, I grab my big tote, and out the door we go.
“You have everything good to go at school?” Jack places his hand low on my back as we make our way out of the building.
“I do. Projects are lined up for tomorrow, directions have been spelled out, and an emergency backup plan is ready to go. Lord, I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas break.”
I pause on the street, not sure which way we’re headed. Lights flash a short way down the block, and Jack steers me toward a behemoth truck parallel parked impossibly perfect. Having grown up in the Deep South, I am not unfamiliar with boys and their toys. Big trucks make up for small personalities, but I know for a fact that Jack is not lacking—anywhere. He opens the passenger door and hands me up into the creamy black leather seat. He shuts me in, deposits my case in the back seat, and rounds the back of the truck before swinging himself behind the wheel.