He’s circling to my head, chest heaving, shirt stained with my arousal. The muscles in his forearms flex as he unzips his pants, unleashing his cock.
“You hit my side if you want out,” he murmurs.
One handed, he flips me onto my back on the table. That’s when I realize what he wants, and my stomach flutters. He’s putting God knows how many inches in my mouth. My nerves hum—I think I can take this. I want to at least try. I’ve done this many times for Leland before, but this is the first time I’ve wanted it.
Wanted is a weak word.
Crave is better.
My lips part. He pulls me closer until my head hangs off the table.
“Open for me, baby,” he rasps.
The table is the perfect height. My tongue flicks out, wetting my lips, although I don’t know if that will do anything to help.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs, cupping my right breast, teasing the nipple with his worn fingers. “Open your mouth and reach between your legs. Touch that pussy for me, baby.”
I’m done, laid out and weak on his kitchen table. My fingers slide down my stomach to my clit, gathering my arousal, stroking myself the way he just did with his tongue. I close my eyes and part my lips, ready for him.
“Good girl,” he praises.
The table creaks. I think he’s bracing himself. Then, the big, hard head of his cock pushes past my lips. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I can feel the lines of the tattoo. I keep my throat slack, letting him feed the barrel of his Ruger into my mouth, pushing all the way to his groin.
My head spins.
I can’t breathe. That’s fine with me.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you go.”
He touches my throat like he’s trying to feel himself through it. Then, he pulls back.
“Breathe,” he orders.
Obediently, I inhale. He ruts his hips gently, filling me past the bend of my throat. Then, he pulls back until the head is on my tongue.
“Exhale for me.”
I exhale.
“That’s my girl,” he says, voice hushed. “You keep touching that pretty, wet cunt.”
Right now, I would do anything for him. He cradles my head, fucking my mouth with just enough force. The tension is perfect. The pleasure is buried somewhere beneath the pain, just enough so I’m dripping on the table as I stroke my clit.
“Fuck yourself, you pretty little bitch,” he pants. “Put your fingers in your cunt and fuck them hard while you swallow my cum. I want to hear how wet you are for me.”
Distantly, I feel myself obeying. My two fingers delve inside. It’s loud, soaked, slipping down my ass.
“Fuck,” he groans, shoving himself so deep, I can’t breathe. His hips stutter, his finger and thumb pinching hard on my nipple. A final orgasm, like an afterthought, ripples through my hips as he comes. The taste of him, visceral as falling into saltwater, floods my senses.
I squirm. He pulls out and flips me onto my knees on the table, holding me steady. I’m shaking, swallowing the spit and cum pooled in my mouth. His thumb runs over my lips, wiping them clean, licking it off. He bends, eyes hovering over mine.
“Hey, baby,” he says. “Look at me.”
Dazed, I obey, tumbling into those beautiful mountain eyes that only come from one place on Earth.
“You’re safe,” he says. “And you were so fucking good for me.”
My head spins, but slowly, I start feeling my limbs again. He bends in, his mustache tickling as he kisses my forehead. I melt, and he takes me in his arms, lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me like he loves me, even though we barely know each other.
