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He has an immaculate set of genitals. Waxed, I’m guessing, which is probably how all the rich playboys do it. I wet him with a few long strokes of my tongue and pull off to jerk him slowly in my hand. “Be honest,” I say. “Do you wish I groomed better?”
I get the dimples again. “No. Do you wish I groomed less?”
“Absolutely not.”
I lower my mouth onto him again, and he inhales sharply. I explore the taste and feel of him. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’ll go for depth in a minute, but right now I just want to suck and lick and imprint myself on this dick. I memorize every ridge with my tongue. I suckle the crown, savoring the tang of his arousal.
I meet his eyes, and they’re half-lidded, half-there. Like half his consciousness is in my mouth. I play with him a few more minutes, grazing my teeth along his slit, twisting my fist around his shaft, and tickling the sensitive divot beneath his tip with my tongue. But when I go to engulf him, he collapses back, his head disappearing from view.
With a firm grip on his waist, I move up and down his length, drawing the loose skin with me using deep suction and firm lips. I move quickly, changing the angle after every few sucks and enjoying the restless twitching of his thighs, especially when they clench around my sides.
I’m destroying my own pants with a soaking amount of precum that my boxer briefs have zero chance of containing, but I trust his dry cleaner. I have to, because I’m not stopping.
Whether I’m any good at this or not, he doesn’t seem to mind, or he’s really good at faking it. He’s an endless string of moans, prayers and curses, rapid breaths and tightening muscles. And he’s wet as fuck.
He tastes so good—expensive and a little like me, I guess. If I’m not careful, I could get hooked on this, make myself the most annoying mistress ever.
I attempt to do the thing he does to me—swallow on him—and I nearly choke the first two times, but determination makes the third time the charm. It also makes his hips rise off the counter.
“Drew?” He sounds like he’s losing his mind. “I’m gonna come—fuck—I’m gonna come in your fucking mouth—fuck?—”
I play it safe, returning my fist to his base and tugging, moving my lips up his shaft to get his crown out of my throat. He shouts nonsense as he soaks my mouth in short, powerful bursts. His hands slam down on the marble as his back bends off it.
His ejaculate turns from a blast to a gush. As I continue to drink it down, it becomes a trickle I can’t stop licking because I want more.
He yanks at my hair and begs me to stop. “Please—Jesus…”
With a final, lingering kiss, I release him and stand up straight. I grab his hands and pull him to sitting. His face is red from hanging upside down, and he looks wasted.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” I say before smashing my lips to his and giving him another taste of himself.
My mouth wants to keep working, keep moving, keep feeling and sucking, but he’s flagging, so I pull away, licking my lips and pressing a hand to his chest. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he says, but it’s barely a breath.
“I need to let you sleep.”
He grips my wrist faster than I thought he was capable of moving right now. “You’re not leaving.”
“No…” I frown. “No, but I slept half the day.”
“Then I’ll stay up with you.”
“I’ll lie down with you,” I argue.
“You don’t have to be so nice to me just because you’re falling in love with me, you know? I won’t recognize you.”
“Yeah…well…everyone’s going to need to make some adjustments around here. You’ll get used to it.”
“Can I call you baby, too?”
“Does baby work for me?” I ask with a wary frown.
“I won’t know until it doesn’t.”
“I feel like I’m more of a babe.”
He grins. “Maybe.”
