Page 125 of Pucking Daddy

But she doesn't seem to care—her eyes are fixed on my cock, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in anticipation.

The sight of her like this, on her knees in the empty arena, sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing through me.

"Zara, you don't have to—"

"I want to." She looks up at me through her lashes, and the raw desire in her gaze steals the words from my throat. "Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you."

She leans forward, her breath warm against the head of my cock.

Then her tongue traces a slow path from base to tip, and my hands fist at my sides, every muscle in my body tensing against the urge to thrust into her mouth.

She takes her time, exploring every inch of me with lips and tongue.

She presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along the shaft, her hand working what she can't reach.

When she finally wraps her lips around the head, I have to brace one hand against the concrete barrier behind her, my knees threatening to buckle.

"Fuck," I groan, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest.

Zara hums in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure racing up my spine.

She takes me deeper, her throat relaxing as she swallows around me. The wet heat of her mouth is overwhelming, and I can feel myself already edging toward the precipice.

Her hands grip my thighs, her nails digging into the muscle through my pants.

She sets a rhythm, bobbing her head with a steady, relentless pace that has my breath coming in sharp gasps.

Each stroke of her tongue, each tight suction of her lips, pushes me closer to the edge.

I force myself to look down at her, to watch my cock disappearing between her lips.

Her eyes are closed now, her expression one of pure concentration—like she's savoring this, like giving me pleasure is its own reward.

"Zara." Her name comes out strangled, warning. "I'm close. If you don't stop—"

She doesn't stop.

If anything, she redoubles her efforts, taking me deeper until I can feel the back of her throat.

The orgasm builds slowly at first, a tightening in my lower belly that spreads outward.

Then it crashes over me all at once, and I'm spilling into her mouth with a groan that echoes through the empty arena.

She swallows around me, taking everything I give her, her throat working as she milks every last drop.

When she finally pulls back, her lips are swollen and glistening. She looks up at me with hooded eyes, and I can see the arousal written across her features—she's just as affected as I am.

"Good?" she asks, her voice rough.

I answer by pulling her to her feet and capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss.

I can taste myself on her tongue, salty and bitter, and it only makes me hungrier.

I groan into her mouth, my fingers working the button of her jeans. She helps, shimmying the denim down her hips along with her underwear, and then she is bare from the waist down, the cold air raising goosebumps on her thighs.

I lift her, setting her on the narrow edge of the concrete, and she wraps her legs around my waist like she'd done it a thousand times.

She reaches down to grip my cock again. To my surprise, I'm already starting to harden beneath her touch—something that rarely happens this quickly.