“Your turn,” I say, reaching for his belt.
I want him in my mouth, thick and hot, with his hand in my hair and his breath catching in my ear. I want to drag every last ounce of control out of him and taste what he’s been holding back for years. I drop to my knees without hesitation.
The kitchen tile bites into my skin, but I don’t care. He’s standing over me, chest rising, lips parted, belt already in my hands. I tug it open, then pop the button on his pants and pull the zipper down slow. His cock strains against the fabric, thick and fully hard, and the second I free him, it springs out heavy and flushed.
He’s perfect. Long and wide, with a dark head already wet at the tip. I wrap my hand around the base and stroke him once, slow and tight, watching his jaw tense. He exhales through his nose. His fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s forcing himself not to take control.
I want him to lose it.
I lean forward and lick the head, circling it, tasting the salt of him. His thighs flex. I do it again, slower, then drag my tongue down the underside of his cock, licking the thick vein all the way to the base.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice tight.
I smile, filthy and smug, and take the head into my mouth, wrapping my lips around it and sucking deep. His groan rips out of him. I bob once, slow, then again deeper. He grips the edge of the counter to steady himself. I can hear the strain in his breath, feel the tension in his legs as I take more of him in.
I use one hand to stroke what I can’t reach, twisting my wrist at the top just enough to make him grunt. My other hand slips down between my thighs. I’m still dripping from the way he touched me, and the slide of my fingers is instant and obscene.
His eyes drop and lock there.
“You’re playing with yourself while you suck my cock,” he says, like he can’t fucking believe it.
I moan around him and do it harder.
He hisses and fists his hand in my hair. “Ana.”
I pull off for a second, spit-slick and breathless. “What?”
He looks wrecked. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Good.” I take him in again.
I suck harder, messier, spit trailing down my chin. He fucks into my mouth now, shallow thrusts that get rougher each time. I gag once and hold still, eyes watering, tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he groans above me.
His hand fists tighter in my hair.
“Open wider,” he growls. “Take all of it.”
I do.
I let him push deeper, throat relaxing around him until he bottoms out. His hips jerk and he holds me there, just for a second, buried in my mouth while my throat contracts around him. A muffled sound breaks from me, and he lurches forward like he’s never felt anything hit that hard.
He pulls back and I suck him hard all the way out, licking the tip before I take him again. It’s relentless now. Wet, filthy, constant. He curses with every breath. His thighs shake. I stroke the base while I suck, faster now, twisting with each motion. I can feel his cock throbbing in my mouth. His hand tightens. His hips stutter.
“Fuck, Ana,” he growls. “I’m gonna?—”
He tries to pull out. I don’t let him.
I grab his ass with both hands and keep him where I want him, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowed as I suck him through it. He swears again, hoarse, and then he comes hard, spilling deep in my throat.
I take all of it, swallowing fast.
He groans so loud it echoes off the walls. His legs nearly give. I don’t stop until he’s completely spent. When I finally pull back, he’s panting, chest heaving, sweat beading at his temples.
I lick him clean, slow and obscene.
He stares down at me, stunned, wrecked, reverent.
I stand slowly. My knees are raw, my mouth swollen, my thighs still wet. He watches every inch of me like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. I don’t look away.
