“Sorry about falling asleep on you. But that orgasm,” I say into the ink of her tattoo. “Seriously. I couldn’t even see straight. Which is all,” I place my lips to the side of her neck and then give her a long line of kisses down that lacey strip, “your fault.” She laughs a little, and I feel it in the hand that is on her stomach. I inhale against her skin and catch a little bit of vanilla in with the coconut. Part of me wants to stay here forever. Just like this.
But the other part of me…
…has plans.
Savoring one last second of our bodies tangled together, I roll to the side and stretch out my hand. “You. Kitchen. Now.”
She gets up on her elbows in the bed, and her hand slides down between my legs, gently pushing on my thigh. “Rest.”
“It feels way better already.” I’m not even lying. “I don’t know what’s in that cream you put on it. Maybe you’ve got the magic touch.”
She rolls her eyes, tugging me toward the bed, but I don’t budge. “It’s only arnica, and there was nothing magic about it. The quote-unquote injury isn’t that bad.”
I flex my quad, and her hands shifts a little as I do. The twinge is gone, the spasm passed. “I prefer to think you have magic fingers.”
And by way of answer, she gives my leg a little squeeze.
Taking her other hand more firmly in mine, I help her up out of the bed and guide her toward the kitchen. I can feel her, hesitant, unsure. What are you up to? I can almost hear it in her careful steps on the bare floor. I take her in my arms, and press her up against the edge of the dining table so tightly that she’s almost sitting on it. “Lie down.”
For one second, she hesitates. Her eyes move over to the honey and the sugar.
“A guy’s got to eat, doesn’t he?” I flip over the bottle of honey and let it pool at the neck, drizzling down to the closed lid.
Her eyes widen. “Yeah.”
“And I’m a big guy….”
“Yes,” she says, looking at my cock. And my body. “Yes. You are.”
“So, get on that table. Because I told you. I’m hungry.”
She lies down on the oak tabletop, scooting toward the head of the table by planting her hands and sliding her body along. At first, she keeps her head raised, watching. But as I pop open the top of the honey bottle, she lowers it and I hear a small, perfect, excited, “Oh. My. God.”
I start at her mouth and put a little drizzle between her parted lips. Then I lean down and kiss her until she isn’t sweet anymore. But greedy again. Warmed up and needy. Just how I like her.
So then, trailing one finger down her stomach, I move to her pussy. I part those lips with my fingers, exposing her clit. She gives that shudder again, and I say, “Ready?”
Before she answers, her breath catches in her throat in a sudden nervous swallow. “Yes. Ready.” And I smile to myself as I watch her grip the tabletop with her little fingers. Bracing for the cold.
She gasps as I drizzle honey down her slit, letting it trickle all over her lips, dripping down onto her ass. And then I pull a chair over and sit down between her legs. I hook her knees over my elbows and pull her down to me so that her hair makes a long dark streak on the oak behind her head.
She tasted like heaven without the honey, but now it’s fucking overload. That salty, hot, perfect sweetness. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She raises her head, watching me, rising from the table a little, that sexy curve of her abdomen tightening as she comes up off the wood.
I plant my hand on her chest and push her back down.
With my tongue, I dip into her, where she tastes dark, not sweet. Like really fucking good chocolate, that kind of salty and deep.
The idea of my cum still inside her makes me fucking insane. So hot, so dirty, so primal. I open her up wide with two fingers, sucking harder. Her hand flies through the air and claps onto the back of my head. I thrust my tongue into her a little deeper. She is fucking drenched, with both her and me, so wet, in fact, that she’s spilling out of herself down her thighs. So I lick that up too, and get her sticky all over.
“God, that’s hot.” She hangs on tightly to my shoulder. Her forearm presses against my cheek, and her skin feels so cool and delicate against the roughness of mine.
Then I pull back from her, only an inch, and let my breath warm her clit. I love this view. When she exhales, I can see the feminine ripple of those abs. Her breasts have fallen down to the sides slightly, so from down here, I can see the curve of her neck and her throat. With my tongue just touching her clit, I start with a slow counterclockwise circle. She fights me at first, because I know she’s still sensitive. Her thighs come together, trying to push me away. I don’t let her push me anywhere. With a soft tongue, I warm her up again. Her grip on my face loosens, and she lifts her hips a little. Last night when I did this, her toes curled after three turns.
Booyah. Fucking magnificent. This time, it happens after only two.
If her clit is like a clock, then she’s all nerves at two o’clock, and putty at seven.
As I tease her at three o’clock, her back comes up off the table and her nipples tighten more and more. I move away from her pussy long enough to lick a long line up each thigh, totally fucking overtaken by the softness of her skin. Around and around I go until I can feel her getting close again. That’s when I stop and stand up.
“No, no, no, don’t stop,” she begs, pawing for me, “Please. Jimmy. Don’t…”
“I love to hear you beg, but you know what I like even more?”
She gives me a low nun-huh.
“Making you beg,” I say, stepping away. As I do, she comes up on her elbows to watch me. I go to the fridge and take the bottle of champagne, with its bright yellow label, from the door. It’s ice cold. It’s been in there for a year at least.
Taking my place between her legs again, I part them just a little more. I put the bottle midway between her spread thighs, a few inches between her and the glass on each side. Slowly, I push the bottle closer, closer, closer to her, until it’s almost touching. But not quite.
Lifting her head, she props herself on her elbows. I open her lips with my fingers and press the side of the bottle against her, making sure the cold green glass is right against her clit. She arches her head back and then grips my forearm with her left hand.
“Oh God, that feels so good.” Where her thighs touch the bottle, I watch little drops of condensation form, and then I turn it a little more to keep her cold and on edge.
Using my teeth, I peel away the foil from the top of the bottle in a long strip that I let fall to the floor. I undo the wire cage and work the cork out, spinning it slightly in my palm until it comes free. Every time the bottle shifts, she moans. Every time a new cold spot on the glass touches her clit, her body bucks a little. I grip the cork in my hand and work it free, every little rock and motion bringing her closer. Pop fills the room, and a puff of gas spills through the air. I take the bottle away from her pussy, and she whines this long, sexy, desperate whine. I don’t give in to her, though, not yet. Instead, I take a long swig and give her one too, making sure to support her head. She lingers there with her tongue on the bottle, watching me, and then pulls away. “Drinking champagne in the afternoon,” she says with a smile. “I could get used to this.”
“And that’s not all.” I place the bottle just above her breasts and let a thin stream slide down her body. With long, careful licks, I clean it off her. Mostly. I leave a pool in her bellybutton, and then drag her all the way to the end of the table so her ass is almost hanging off.
I lower the bottle down between her legs, rolling it up her calf now, and I position the neck toward her opening. Her eyes flit from me to the bottle and back again.
There’s that shudder.
Gripping the bottle by the label, I place the mouth at her opening and let her lips slide down over the smooth glass rim. “Oh fuck,” she says, sitting up a little further and watching. “Jimmy...”
I slide it in a
nother half-inch so that the top of the bottle, where the wire cage was, is inside her.
Her eyes are wide, almost fearful. “You want more?” I ask her.
Her toes give her away, curls before she answers, “Yes.”
So I give her a little more, and a little more, and together we watch the neck of that bottle, that green glass, so slick, cold, and hard, disappear right inside her.
Deeper. So sinful, so fucking sexy. Holy shit is it hot. I go as far as I can, until the whole neck of the bottle is inside her and her lips are stretching open wide at the neck.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.” I bring my mouth closer to her pussy while holding the bottle tight. I give her clit a little attention. The smell is fucking crazy-making. Champagne, honey, and her wetness, all mixed up with me.
I press in a little deeper, and she growls this dirty, filthy growl and grips my shoulder with her nails. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” I tip the bottle up, and then down, and slightly side to side. I push a little harder. She’s too fucking tight for it all to go inside her, but this is fucking perfect already.
“You make me want to do terrible things to you, pussycat.”
She laughs a little. “Do them.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Back and forth I rock it. I spin it a little. I listen to her hiss and gasp. But before she can get used to it—while her toes are still curled—I slowly ease it from her. The glass neck is hot to the touch. Holding it up for her, I say, “Feel what you’re like inside.”
Her palm encircles the neck. She grips it and releases. Grips and releases. Then her eyes sparkle. “Oh my God.”
“See? I told you.” I shake my head. “Hot.”
I stick my thumb in the top of the bottle and give it a little shake. With the bottle in one hand and parting her lips with the other, I run a thin, foamy river down her stomach that spills down between her folds. As soon as the bubbles hit her clit, her body tightens and she does that thing she does, with her tongue to the roof of her mouth. My favorite.
“When I was in high school, I did this with Pop Rocks,” I tell her. “But this is way fucking better.”
She can’t even speak, but just nods, her chest dropping as she exhales. Along the edge of the table, her fingertips whiten as she bears down harder. I see all the gorgeous curves of her collarbone, her shoulders, her ribcage, now shiny and glistening with champagne. I lower my face between her legs. I keep pouring, catching some on my tongue while most of it pools below her pussy on the table.
I make a little well with my tongue under her clit and work the champagne up into a froth. As I do, her hands form tight, pretty fists. “Jimmmmmyyyyyyyyy.”
Rather than working her in circles now, I pinch her clit softly with my fingers, pulling it out from her body. I felt her do it earlier on the chair. That’s when she falls back onto the table with a groan.
“I’m going to make you come again,” I tell her, licking her wetness and the champagne from my lips. “Just so we’re clear on the plan.”
“I don’t think I can, not so fast…”
“Mind games, bullshit. Yes, you can.”
She tilts her head, furrows those pretty brows. “I think it’s…”
“Stop it. Leave it to me. I know you can.”
She smiles a little. “Okay. For you, I’ll try.”
God, she looks so good. That pink flesh, her clit so swollen and ready for me. So willing.
“But if it’s too much, tell me what you’re going to say…”
She blinks at me.
“Give me a word, Mary. So I know if you can’t take it anymore.”
I can hear her swallow. Her eyes shift around as if she’s looking for the word on the floor. “Mercy.”
Yeah. See? This woman. She gets it. It’s so simple, so fucking sexy, so fucking perfect. “Mercy?”
She nods.
I dip back inside her, following my tongue with my first finger and the second.
Mercy? “People say that to God, you know.”
Again, her grasp tightens on my shoulder. “I know,” she whispers.
Hell to the motherfucking yes.
This orgasm is long and low and makes her thigh muscles tremble against my cheeks, and only when she’s on the very tail end of it does she try to push me away, thrashing, and whispers, “Mercy. Please.”
I pull away immediately. My mouth is covered in her, and that smell, fuck, that smell. Placing my hand to her stomach, I feel her breathing, rapid and excited.
“Don’t you move.”
“Don’t leave me.” Her eyes are damp. She looks like she might cry, so wide open and vulnerable it makes me want to get right on my knees. Fuck the dining room chair. I want to get on the concrete for this woman.
But not yet. Not fucking yet.
Before I can even tell her what I want, she’s doing it. She’s wriggling down and taking me in her mouth, turning on her side, holding the base of my cock with her hands, taking the head deep into her mouth and cupping my balls all at once. It’s fucking overload. She looks up at me, and I nod down at her. “Yeah.” I run my hand down her back. “Fuck yeah.”
Starting with the head, she works downward, tenderly kissing me. With each kiss, she gives me a little more tongue, until she works her way back up and takes me in her mouth again. Deep. Deeper.
Our eyes lock.
Deepest.
The end of my cock is at the opening of her throat, all the way inside. And holy fuck, she stays there. Her body kicks back, but she stays there. For one second, two. I look up at the ceiling and close my eyes. Three seconds. She pulls away but comes back in for more after a gasping breath.
“Fuuuuuuck.” I catch sight of myself in profile from the light in the fireplace. The curve of her body, on its side, perpendicular to the bulk of mine.
Her tongue moves up and down my shaft, and she fists me, giving me a long, wet suck where my balls meet my cock. And then, fuck me, she takes my left ball in her mouth. My long one. My sensitive one.
I don’t know how long she stays there. How long does it take a guy to die and be revived? Ten seconds? A minute? Whatever it is, it’s plenty of time to lose my fucking mind. Finally, she pulls away and says softly, almost under her breath, “Honey. Please.”
I reach blindly for the bottle, handing it to her, but she doesn’t take it. “Do it for me, handsome.” Keeping my eyes right on hers, I flip open the lid and run a bead down the top of my shaft.
She sits up a little higher, looking from me, to it, and back again.
Then she makes a grabbing movement with one hand, looking at the honey. “We can do better than that.”
I hand the bottle to her, and she doesn’t just put it straight on to me, no. Instead, she puts it on her fingers then on my balls, rubbing the sticky sweetness into me.
She stretches out her hand toward the kitchen, smiling at my cock and balls. “Sugar, please.”
Fuck.
She sprinkles sugar down over me, and a coating sticks to the honey on my balls and the base of my cock, while the rest falls to the floor.
“Def Leppard never saw this one coming,” I tell her.
That giggle. That sweet little giggle. I’m so fucking gone for this woman right here.
Alternating between my cock and balls, she cleans me, the honey and sugar gathering along her lips, the granules of sugar scraping me just a little as she sucks them from me. I feel the sugar under the soles of my feet as I rock backward. And again, I think of her on a beach. In summer. But honey and sugar in winter? That’ll hold me over until then.
This woman is so fucking gorgeous. The light is perfect in here. Her hair so fucking perfect—this thick, dark mess. The angle of her nose, the curve of her chin. That face. That face. It’s almost like the idea snares me, a fast-moving obsession. The thing I’ve never done, never even wanted to do.
“Will you let me come on you?”
Her e
yes dart up to mine. “I’d rather swallow you.”
Hell. “On your face. I need to put myself on those cheeks. I need to see you dripping with me.”
Her tongue slows on my frenulum. And then she pulls me from her mouth.
“Why?” she says, the underside of her tongue sliding over the tip.
To mark her, to deface her, to worship her. All that and everything in between. “Because you’re too fucking beautiful. I have to ruin you a little.”
Her eyes shut, and her lashes press to her cheeks. Then there’s that smile, that beautiful up-to-no-good Knockout Wall Hero smile.
What does she do then?
She fucking nods, making my cock bob in her mouth.
“Yeah?”
Nods again.
I gather up her long, cool hair in my hand, moving it back from her face in a makeshift ponytail. With my other hand, I work my cock into her mouth. Harder and harder. I came so fucking rough earlier it takes me a little while to find it again. But I do. Deep in those eyes.
And then she does it. She lowers her face below my cock, mouth slightly open.
Waiting.
The need to mark her tears through me hard and fast. To put my seed on that face, to make her wear me, to make her wet with me, to cover that beauty with the very core of me.
I start stroking myself like I would if I were alone. I fist myself hard, as hard as I’d jack off in the shower. Harder even. More aggressive.
Her eyes widen, and she smiles. “Look at you. So brutal.”
I keep going and going, speeding up and imagining that it’s not my hand at all but her body. Her womb. Her cunt.
Fuck.
Her lips part, and her tongue slips out. Waiting. Her hand cups my balls and she works them gently between her fingers.
And it hits me. Here I am, thinking I’m in charge?
I’m not.
I’m nothing. She’s everything. She’s fucking got me. By the balls. Completely.
“You’re sure,” I say, doubling down on myself.
She nods, her hair shifting along my thigh. “Come on my cheeks. And my lips. Come everywhere.”
It’s coming. I feel it stirring low in my abdomen.
Hail Mary Page 12