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“How I was going to give you the wettest blow job.” I stopped in front of him and dropped to my knees, adjusting his trousers to give myself access before taking his cock from him.
He slipped his fingers into my hair and squeezed, forcing me to look up at him. “Really? Because I was daydreaming about the sight of your lips around my dick.”
As I stroked him, I licked the tip of his cock, then opened wide to kiss it, taking his silken crown into my mouth. I pulled off with a pop, cupping his balls, fingering the space behind. “Glad we’re on the same page,” I said before descending.
His hands fisted my hair, the feral noise he made stoking something hot and desperate in me as I explored the length of him with my tongue and lips, taking as much as I could, the rest in my fist. Saliva gathered around my lips, then slipped down my chin in a river.
He throbbed in my mouth—I moaned, lips closed around him, my eyes fluttering closed.
Remy snapped to get my attention, holding my gaze while he fucked my mouth.
“God I love the sight of you on your knees, Duchess. The feel of your hot fucking mouth around my cock.” He grunted, his chin tipping up for a moment.
I snapped at him. He chuckled once, the sound sliding into a moan as he met my eyes again.
“I’m gonna come. Do you feel it?”
I did, his cock swelling, throbbing.
“I’m not coming on you this time like I know you want. No—this time, you’re gonna drain every last drop from me.” His voice went breathy, his fingers twisting in my hair as he held me still and pumped his hips. I held his eyes, watching him come closer to orgasm in stages. The tightening of his body. The speed of his breath. The way his hands felt against my stinging scalp. The unbearable size of his cock.
When he came, it was with a hiss and a groan, his cock pulsing against my tongue as he unloaded. My mouth was filling up too quickly, and I looked up at him as come dribbled down both sides of my mouth onto my breasts.
He watched, transfixed, panting.
Unexpectedly, he pulled out, bringing with him a spume of milky come. Before I could close my mouth, he grabbed my face, slipping two fingers into my mouth.
“Good girl.” He dipped his fingertips into his seed and toyed with my tongue. “Get up.”
As I did, he commanded, “Suck them clean,” sending a hot tremble through me. And I swallowed him, everything that was left.
He grabbed my chin, smearing the come with his thumb, trailing it down my neck. He squeezed. “I want to feel how wet you are,” he said, tipping my face and slipping his hand between my thighs in the same motion. His hand around my throat squeezed gently. His other hand stroked me with purpose as he backed me into a wall.
He dropped to his knees.
My heart stopped.
His eyes were on my cunt as he played with it, spreading my lips to expose my clit, drawing a deep breath as he latched onto me.
My hips bucked at the contact, my lungs shooting open as he sucked and teased, sliding his shoulder under my one leg, then the other until I was slung over him, my pussy in his face and my shoulder blades against the wall. I looked down my body, dotted with pearly come, as he drew me into his mouth and pulled. Parted his lips and dragged the flat of his tongue up the length of me. The tip found my swollen bud and drew hard circles, fucking it slowly with the purposeful stroke of his tongue. When he broke the connection, it was to watch his fingertips run up and down the length of my hood with my clit in between, squeezing it gently, worshiping it slowly.
My lungs emptied, my head lolling.
“I could get drunk off you,” he said, lapping me. “Off your pussy. It’s fucking perfect.” He latched on again, sucking my cunt into his mouth. I moaned, my hands scrabbling for purchase, finally sliding into his hair where I could hold on. “Perfect,” he whispered once more against my lips, “and mine.”
He didn’t say anything after that, his mouth too busy, his pace relentlessly slow, my orgasm racing toward his tongue.
“I’m going to come,” I whispered.
I thought I’d experienced the peak of his skills. This, I was sure was the pinnacle. But on knowing his job was nearly through, he drilled into me with resolution, speeding up, brows together, his lashes dark crescents.
When he moaned, the sound vibrated through my aching clit.
I came painfully in his mouth, my legs twitching and spasming, my ribs contracting, electricity sweeping across my skin as I gasped and moaned and unraveled until there was nothing left of me. I sagged against the wall, unable to catch my breath.
Remy shrugged out from beneath me, catching me with the hook of his arm before my legs gave out. Holding me there, he arched, leaning in to grant me a long, reverent kiss. I licked the salt of my body from his bottom lip before he scooped me up and carried me to bed. When he laid me down, I watched as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his trousers, savoring the reveal of his bare skin. And then he retrieved a folded hand towel from the stack on his dresser before climbing into bed and pulling me into his arms.
He clutched me to his chest, my ear pressed against his skin so I could hear his racing heart. His hands were in my hair, and he leaned back, sliding them to my face. His touch was gentle as he tended to me, wiping my chin, then my chest, cleaning me with adoration. When his job was through, he held me for a protracted moment as if he had something to say, but instead, he kissed me again. It was a kiss of possession, of the ownership one reveled in when surrender is freely given. Of the brand on my heart, of the brand I placed on his.
