If masculinity had anything to do with it, he’d unload a quart. If sexiness were involved, it’d be a gallon. If the size of his cock or balls came into play, it would take me an hour to clean up.
He didn’t make me wonder for long. The only forewarning to his climactic finish was the long, guttural groan that escaped from deep within his being.
His eyes cinched closed.
Come blasted from the tip of his cock like a geyser. In a nanosecond, my face and tits were covered in my successes.
Many women would perceive the event as tasteless.
Gross.
Nasty.
I saw it as nothing short of a sexy-as-absolute-fuck success. Devin was a man’s man. He’d never received a hand job and doubted I’d be able to succeed in pleasing him. So certain of my inability, he’d made a bet against me bringing him to climax.
Despite his disbeliefs, I’d accomplished my goal. The depth of his pleasure was plastered all over my face and tits.
With an elevated sense of self-worth, I cupped my come-drenched breasts in my hands and stood. Devin’s eyes were now open and wider than I’d ever seen them.
“I’m going to clean this off,” I said.
Wearing a grin, I strode toward the bathroom as proud as a peacock. Upon reaching the door, I paused and glanced over my shoulder. “Don’t forget,” I said. “It’s sex on command.”
He exhaled a long, exaggerated breath. “Got any ideas?”
When he found out what I wanted from him, he’d probably forfeit the bet. If not, we’d both have an unbelievable story to tell when it was over.
“Not yet,” I lied. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Devin
Kate ran through the front door, narrowly escaping the torrential downpour that swept across the parking lot. Appearing relieved that her new hairstyle was spared, she came to my desk and let out a sigh.
Her normally wavy hair was now arrow straight. The few golden highlights she wore had been tastefully increased to give her hair a summery glow without looking fake or unnatural.
“I like the new hair,” I said. “The highlights look great.”
“Thank you.” She flipped the straightened strands over her shoulder and struck a pose as if modeling for a magazine cover. “Simple Beauty Studio nailed it. It’s called twilighting.”
“Whatever it’s called, they did a great job,” I said in agreement.
“Enough about the awesome job they did on my hair.” She leaned against the edge of my desk and raised her perfectly sculpted brows. “Sounds like you and Teddi are getting ready for an exciting night.”
Apparently she knew something I didn’t. It wasn’t surprising. It seemed Kate and Teddi talked as much as Herb and me.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
She rested her chin against the heel of her palm. “Sex. On. Demand.”
Prior to being surrounded by women on a daily basis, I had no idea they spoke to one another about sex. Unlike men, I assumed they kept their tales to themselves, leaving each other to wonder what they were doing, who they were seeing, and how frequently they were being screwed by their respective other.
I narrowed my gaze. “She told you about that?”
“She tells me everything.”
I swallowed hard. “Everything?”
She wagged her eyebrows. “Everything.”
“You might think she tells you everything, but—”
“You lasted all of thirty seconds,” she said, straight-faced. “It took her longer to clean up the mess than it did for her to bring you to climax.”
Slightly embarrassed, I felt the need to defend myself the best I was able. “She used lotion,” I complained. “Did she tell you that?”
Her gaze narrowed. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It was some super-slippery secret stash she kept hidden in the bathroom. It gave her a competitive edge.”
“You think she used lotion for a competitive edge?” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “That’s basic hand job etiquette.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” I snapped back. “I’m not versed in the intricacies of hand job delivery.”
“Well, now you know,” she said. “Using lotion is standard operating procedure for a hand job.”
“What if it’s a hand job emergency?” I asked.
She scrunched her nose. “What’s a hand job emergency?”
“An impromptu thing. Say, if the guy was driving down the street and you felt like it was a perfect time to jack him off. What then?”
“We keep it in our purse,” she replied, as if it were common knowledge.
Once again, it appeared I was the idiot. “You keep jack-off juice in your purse?”
She nodded. “We carry lotion with us in case we’re challenged by a nonbeliever to stroke him to climactic bliss.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” she said with a nod. “We’re inundated with requests to jack guys off. We need lotion to minimize friction and guarantee success. Until now, it’s been a well-kept secret. You figured us out.”
I had no idea if she was serious or joking. She looked serious.
“Seriously?”
“It’s a huge conspiracy,” she admitted. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m supposed to let you know these types of things. It goes against girl code.”
I knew women were sneaky bitches, but I had no idea they’d banded together to develop a recipe of success for jacking men off. I wondered what else I needed to prepare for.
“What other tricks do you sneaky fuckers have up your sleeves?” I asked.
She took a few steps away from the desk. “I probably shouldn’t say.”
“We’re best friends,” I pleaded. “C’mon.”
She looked me over as if sizing me up for a suit. “Well, since we’re besties.” She glanced over each shoulder. Upon realizing there was no one within earshot, she came closer. “If you ever do anything stupid like stay out late with your friends and get shitfaced, and you want a quick way to be forgiven? All you’ve got to do is go downtown. But it’s got to be a solo effort. No reciprocal action.”
“You mean…” I stuck my tongue between the V of my outstretched index and middle finger. “This?”
“You guessed it.”
“Solo effort, huh?”
She nodded. “All will be forgiven.”
“What else?”
“Every chance you get, walk around the house shirtless. It stimulates our sexual senses.”
“That’s an easy one,” I said. “Keep ’em coming.”
“No matter how cool you think it would be or how much you might think she’d like it, never ask for a three-way. It’s the kiss of death to any relationship.”
“I’d never ask anyone to—”
“Just making sure.”
“What else?”
“No matter what the food we cook tastes like, tell us you love it. Rave about it. Compare it to a recent fine-dining experience. It’s a surefire way to get post-meal sex.”
“Anything else?”
She smirked. “I think that’s it for now.”
“What?” I asked. “There’s something you don’t want to tell me.”
“Well…” She gave me a quick once-over. “No. Forget it.”
I scowled. “Say what you were going to say.”
Seeming reluctant to continue, she turned away. “Just go with what I gave you.”
“Bullshit,” I spat. “Tell me what you were going to say.”
“Fine.” She faced me and let out a sigh. “At that instant our vaginal walls tighten up, just before an orgasm, we love having a finger poked up our butt.”
“No shit?”
“I’m dead serious. It’s a well-guarded secret. Make sure your nails are trimmed. And be sure to lick it first if there’s no lube available. But do it in secrecy. Don’t advertise that
you’re doing it. It’s the surprise that excites us.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I extended my hand and clenched my fist. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem, bro.” She pounded her fist against mine. “Just keep it a secret.”
I pinched my fingers together and zipped my lips closed.
She turned toward her office. “Have fun this weekend.”
“What’s going on this weekend?”
She disappeared into the office’s abyss, leaving me to wonder what Teddi’s plans were for the weekend.
Some secrets, I guessed, were meant to be kept.
Chapter Twenty
Teddi
Devin took a sip of his wine and set the glass aside. He reached for his fork. “This is crazy.”
The only thing that was crazy was that he was eating dinner without his shirt. It was hard for me to stay focused on my meal, and I feared that I might be caught inadvertently drooling.
“What’s crazy?” I asked, assuming he wasn’t talking about his bare torso.
“This lasagna,” he replied. “It’s better than what Herb and I ate that night we met Vinnie at that fancy Italian joint.”
I shifted my eyes from my food to him. “You like it?”
“It’s awesome,” he said. “The salad, too. The dressing is fantastic.”
The muscles in his chest swelled with each breath he took, and he took them often. I felt like I did in ninth grade when Karen Valentine and I peered through the crack in the wall and into the boys’ locker room. I wanted to stare but felt guilty for doing so.
I shifted my attention to my plate. “It’s just oil and vinegar.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s fucking tasty.”
Despite my intentions to stay focused on the meal, I glanced in his direction. He raised a forkful of lasagna to his mouth. Whether intentional or not, his pectoral muscle flexed. Then it flexed again.
I nearly wet myself.
“Thank you,” I murmured, looking away. “I appreciate it.”
“So, what movie are we going to see?”
“Ford versus Ferrari,” I replied. “There’s not a good rom-com playing, so I thought we’d do a guy show.” I made the mistake of looking up. “They say it’s really good.”
“Sounds good to me.” He nodded toward the island. “Can I have some more before we go?”
“Salad?”
“Everything,” he said. “Salad. Lasagna. The bread. I can’t get enough.”
We were eating later than I’d hoped and were pressed for time, but I beamed with pride at the thought of him enjoying the meal. “Absolutely.” I stood and reached over the table. “Hand me your plate.”
He lifted his plate and extended his arm over the table. The muscles on the back of his bicep flared to twice their normal size. His shirtless antics had me so horny, I was lightheaded. Itching to get my plan underway, I took his plate and filled it with food. After a moment of admiring him from my out-of-view vantage point, I returned to the table.
I handed him the plate. “I just noticed you’re half naked. What’s going on with that?”
“I didn’t want to wrinkle that new shirt you bought me,” he said. “I thought it’d be nice to wear it out.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “If we’re not taking the motorcycle, I’ll wear a dress.”
If I drove, it would make succeeding that much easier. I finished my meal and excused myself from the table while my shirtless boyfriend continued to shovel food into his gullet like a starving man.
“I’m going to get dressed really quickly,” I said, glancing at my watch as I stood. “We need to leave in thirty minutes or so.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Okay.”
I changed into my evening’s attire of a comfortable dress, two-inch heels, and my favorite accessories. After primping my hair to perfection, I returned to the kitchen. Although the dinner mess was cleaned up, Devin remained shirtless and was pacing the floor.
“Are you about ready?” I asked.
He paused. “Just about.”
He kissed me—passionately. As he broke our embrace, he lifted me from my feet.
Lightheaded from the kiss, I mentally fumbled to figure out what was happening. “What are you doing?”
He lowered my butt onto the edge of the island. “Sorry I was late.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ve still got time.”
He glanced at his watch. “About five more minutes?”
I looked at the clock on the microwave. “Give or take. Why?”
He pushed my dress to mid-thigh. “Get this thing out of my way.”
Confused, I gave him a look. “What are we doing?”
“I’m going to lick your pussy for five minutes,” he replied. “Until we’ve got to go.”
Licking my pussy trumped a movie about men racing cars. We could be an hour late for all I cared. As luck would have it, I was sans panties. Eager to let him get to work, I hiked my dress to my waist and spread my legs so wide, I feared I might dislocate a hip.
“How’s that?” I asked.
He wedged his shoulders between my thighs and lowered his head into my lap. “Perfect.”
I rested my elbows against the island. I peered down at him. His warm breath against my wet pussy caused me to shake with anticipation.
He flicked his tongue against my clit. My body shuddered. He did it again. He slid a finger inside me. A few gentle strokes followed. He added another finger.
He gripped my ass firmly in his hands and pressed his mouth against my throbbing pussy. I bucked my hips against his face, maintaining perfect timing with flicks of his tongue.
Flick, flick, suck.
Flick, flick, suck.
Flick, flick, suck.
The man was focused. His determination was undeniable. I shook like a silenced cell phone as he continued to tongue his way into my heart.
My body tensed. I pawed at the cold marble surface. Nearly frantic, I reached for his head. After receiving no opposition, I began fucking his mouth. He responded by sucking my clit like a man who’d received formal training on the subject.
Seconds later, a paralyzing orgasm rendered me incapable of doing anything but mindlessly staring at the ceiling while I climaxed all over his freshly shaven face.
A hint of Devin’s cologne, fresh garlic, and the aroma of sex melded together. The combined scents, the earth-shattering orgasm, and my eager anticipation of the night’s future events turned my brain to mush.
He kissed my inner thighs and then stood.
I tilted my head to the side.
Wearing a smirk, he met my glassy-eyed gaze. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You ready to go?”
He’d sucked me stupid. I doubted I could remember how to walk, let alone drive. Nevertheless, forfeiting my plans for the night wasn’t an option.
“If you’re ready to carry me,” I said, “I’m ready to go.”
We took our assigned seats in the front of the theater, three rows from the screen. Devin surveyed the handful of empty seats behind us and then looked at me.
“Why the fuck are we sitting way up here?” he whispered. “There are a few seats back there.”
“When I looked online, it showed all those as sold.”
“Rich bastards in this town buy all these seats and then never show up,” he complained. “I swear.”
“These seats will be fine,” I whispered.
We sat side by side in the center of the aisle. The three narrow rows of seats were three steps down the stairway from the much wider rows behind us. Segregated from the rest of the moviegoers at a movie that was beginning to lose its lure, we had our own private section, of sorts.
Following the previews, the movie began. A few scenes into the show, a foul-mouthed British man was racing against many other similar cars on a racetrack that appeared to be in the desert. Everyone in attendance, including Devin, had their eyes glued to the sc
reen. My interest wasn’t in the movie, nor would it be.
I tapped my finger against Devin’s thigh.
He glanced at me. His eyes quickly shot back to the racing scene. “What?” he asked over the sound of the speeding cars.
“Take off your pants,” I said. “And your boxers.”
He gave me a look. “What the fuck for?”
“Sex on demand,” I replied, trying not to smile.
His eyes darted to the massive screen. He chuckled.
“I’m serious,” I said. “You lost the bet. I’m demanding it.”
He glanced behind him. “There’s a hundred people back there.” He looked at me. “A hundred people with an average age of seventy.”
“On demand,” I said, wagging my finger toward his crotch. “Take ’em off.”
He studied me for a long moment before complying with my request. He mumbled protests under his breath as he removed each article of clothing.
Uncertain if his complaining was driven by a reluctance to perform in front of a theater full of elderly onlookers or the fact that he was going to miss a good part of the movie, I offered a less than heartfelt apology.
“We can come back and see the movie later,” I whispered. “But this is happening, boss.”
“Just remember,” he said, tossing his boxer shorts into the empty seat at his side. “You asked for it.”
I gripped his semi-flaccid cock in my hand and gave it a few strokes. “Are you going to be able to perform, or am I going to have to make do with this noodle?”
“It’s hard to focus,” he complained. “There’s a lot going on in here.” He nodded toward my purse. “You got any lotion in there?”
“I don’t need lotion,” I replied in braggadocian fashion.
I buried my face in his lap and sucked him into a rock-hard state. Satisfied that we were both prepped and ready, I raised my head and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I surveyed the theater. All eyes appeared to be fixed on the movie.
Facing the screen, I climbed on Devin’s lap and lowered myself onto his stiff dick. Once his length was buried deep inside me, I glanced over my shoulder.
Misadventures with a Biker Page 13