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I turn around and gasp. His hard-on is making a serious dent in his jeans.
“Believe me now?”
I turn back. “Yes.”
“Good. Use me as your toy. And do it now, woman.”
Well, then. “Since it’s an order,” I say.
“It absolutely is.”
With my black skirt rucked up and my thighs framing his face, I rock my hips back and forth.
The second I do, his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass. His moans against my pussy tell me how much he loves it.
And I let go.
Rocking, riding, and finding my pleasure. Using him like the best kind of sex toy. That’s how he eats me too. Like it’s his one job. Like he read all the instructions from Risqué Business. Like he’s learned exactly why I’d buy a toy that simulates oral.
And he gives it to me like that.
Greedy, focused, determined. And full of so much passion. His tongue is an eager explorer. His lips are hungry.
He kisses deeply, then flicks his tongue against my clit, and soon I’m lit up, sparking everywhere. Pleasure’s rising higher in me, spreading from my center through my whole being.
Grabbing the headboard harder, I ride his face with abandon. I use him. I take everything his tongue and mouth and lips have to give. I rely on his scruff. I enjoy everything about his face as I fuck him recklessly, seeking one thing and one thing only—an orgasm that’ll obliterate my senses.
And it’s barreling toward me. Heat roars through my body. Bliss knocks on my door.
And this man eats me like it’s the Fourth of July carnival and he’s entered a pie-eating contest.
He doesn’t hold back.
He’s all in, kissing and sucking and consuming my wetness till pleasure tightens, coils, then bursts.
“Oh god,” I cry out, as an orgasm slams into me like a wave against the ocean shore, then crashes beautifully, powerfully, before it rolls out to sea.
I don’t know how long it lasts, but a minute later, I’m panting, murmuring, lying next to him. “I’m going to need some new theories.”
“That so?” he asks, stroking my hair.
“Yeah. Men who return sex toys and read all about them perform better than one.”
“Better than a toy? That’s high praise,” he says.
“The highest,” I say, then roll to my side, my hand exploring his firm abs. “Mmm. I think it’s my turn now, Mister Cocktail.”
And right as my fingertips reach his jeans, an idea pops, fully formed in my head. What if our idea that we played around with earlier turned into a business? “We should do a chocolate and cocktails pop-up shop.”
He cracks up. “Did you just come up with a business idea before you’re about to free my dick?”
“Well, your cock is very inspiring,” I say as I run my hand along the ridge of his erection. “Mojitos and martinis.”
“Truffles and toffee,” he says, getting into it.
“We could do taste tests,” I say.
“Theme nights. I can see the marketing now.”
