She licks her lips, staring directly at my crotch. “You’re not getting out of the parking lot without blowing your load in my mouth.”
Fuck. Her filthy mouth nearly has my knees buckling. Gripping her jaw, I make sure she can’t look anywhere but in my eyes. “You’re so hot when you’re dirty.”
She snickers. “I’m always dirty.”
“Exactly. Let’s go.”
We don’t say goodbye to anyone as we leave, but she’s already texting someone as we make our way out into the parking lot. When I catch her eye she purses her lips. “Girls have to tell each other when they’re leaving, and that they’re safe. Penises don’t typically have those kinds of restrictions.”
She’s right—the guys wouldn’t think twice about me heading home without them, nor me them. It’s a whole different world for women. I come to a complete stop right in the middle of the road. “Does Eloise have a ride?”
Victoria’s smile lights up the whole street. “She’s good. Ares has that touch-her-and-die thing going on. But I appreciate the awareness for my gender.” She pats me on the shoulder before we continue our way to the car.
I’ll have to teach my son about consent when he’s older. I’ll have to teach him a whole bunch of shit. Fuck. That’s some next level responsibility.
“Jesus, your brain’s loud, Raffi. What the hell are you chewing over?”
“Just the parenting challenges of raising a boy.”
She laughs. “Can we shift your thoughts for now?” She unlocks her car and tugs the back door open.
“To what?”
“Sit the fuck down, open your pants, and let me suck you off till you come.”
Fucking hell. What is my life? This. Fucking. Woman.
I’m not going to argue with her, or wait for her to tell me again. I’m also not going to object. She’ll get her O. In fact, she’ll get many, but after that game, and the adrenaline charging through my body, a release is just what I need.
She climbs into the car with a wicked grin on her face. That bright red lipstick is about to get smeared all over my cock, and I can’t wait.
“Sit back and close your eyes, Raffi. Let me take care of you.”
CHAPTER 33
Victoria
Most women don’t like giving head. I can count on one hand the number of my friends who like having dick in their mouths. Okay, wait, I can count my friends on one hand so that’s not exactly a fair sample. But it’s commonly held knowledge that women hate blowies. That’s why dudes created “Steak and a blow job day,” so they’re almost guaranteed a blow job once a year from their significant other.
I’m not one of those women.
I fucking love giving head.
Having that much power literally on the tip of my tongue is intoxicating. The ability to turn a guy into a babbling, writhing, mindless being with my gag reflex is one of my favorite things to do.
Raffi’s head is tipped back against the window in the back seat, his eyes closed just like I told him. I like that he doesn’t fight. He’ll give me my happy ending at some point, I know that without question. He’s not a selfish lover. But when I want to take care of him, he’s absolutely down for it.
And right now, I need to take care of him. Even if thethrobbing between my thighs is driving me insane. I’m aching to touch myself, relieve some of the pressure, but I’m so focused on giving him what he needs all I can do is rub my thighs together and enjoy in disappointment, the frustration, and the anticipation of Raffi ravaging me when I’m done sucking him off.
Game night hits differently.
Maybe it’s the hot suits. Maybe it’s the heady smell of a win in your own arena. Maybe it’s the heightened hormones flying around the ice with the puck—adrenaline, testosterone, perhaps a healthy dose of serotonin and dopamine.
Either way, there’s a buzz from my guy that makes me want to fuck like a wild animal in the middle of a freakin’ forest.
I feel it sometimes at the gym after a workout. I’m tired, hot, sweat’s dripping down my ass crack and under my tits, and all I want to do is tear my clothes off and ride Raffi’s dick until we both come. Repeatedly.
Whatever witchcraft it is has me sucking Raffi’s cock straight to the back of my throat as soon as he opens his pants to let me.
