Page 149 of Love at First Fright

I looked up at him through my fringe, holding his gaze as I took just the head into my mouth. Sucked gently. His cock twitched against my tongue, and fuck—the weight of it, the thickness, the heat radiating through every point of contact. I had no sense of taste anymore, but this? The solid presence of him, the way he pulsed with life? God, that was everything. I wanted more. Wanted all of him.

I sank down slowly, inch by inch, letting him feel every second of me closing around him. His hand found my hair, fingers tangling but not pulling. Not yet. Just holding on like he needed something solid to anchor himself.

When I reached halfway, I pulled back, tongue working against the underside as I went. Then down again, deeper this time, pushing past the point where most people would gag. But I didn’t have to breathe. Didn’t even have that pesky reflex anymore, apparently.

A silver lining indeed.

Charlie’s moan was low and broken, his hips bucking up despite his obvious attempt at restraint.

I pulled off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. Thank god my mouth was still capable of that wetness, else this would be a tragically dry experience for Charlie.

“You can move,” I told him. “I won’t break.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

Instead of answering, I took him deep again, all the way down until my nose pressed against the soft hair at his base. Held there. Let him feel how completely I could take him, how there was nothing stopping him from fucking my throat if he wanted to.

His fingers tightened in my hair. “Oh my god. Oh fuck. Bat—”

I hummed around him, the vibration making his whole body shudder. Then I started moving properly. Long, slow pulls that dragged my tongue against every sensitive ridge and vein. Faster strokes that had obscene wet sounds filling the room. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard on the upstroke, then relaxed my throat to take him deep again.

Charlie’s thighs started shaking, his breathing ragged. One hand stayed fisted in my hair while the other gripped the threadbare sheets beneath him. His hips rocked up in time with my movements, shallow thrusts that grew less restrained with every passing second.

“Fuck, that’s—you’re—” He couldn’t seem to finish a sentence. And I couldn’t help feeling smug about that.

I reached up with one hand, found his hip, squeezed—a silent encouragement. Go on. Use me. Please. I want it.

He got the message. His next thrust was harder, more deliberate, driving his cock deep into my throat. I took it easily, relaxed into the rhythm as he started properly fucking my mouth. The wet slide of him, his heat, the desperate little sounds spilling from his lips—the best sort of music.

My own cock throbbed where it pressed against the mattress, but I didn’t dare touch myself. Not after last night’s embarrassing finale. Not when I wanted so badly to be inside him.

I pulled off him, my hand wrapping around his slick length. “One final request. Please may I fuck you senseless until you’re screaming my name?”

“Oh my—fuck—yes! Please! Right now! Do it!”

twenty

Charlie

My entire body thrummed with need, every nerve ending screaming for release. I’d been so close. So bloody close—another five seconds and I would’ve come down Bat’s throat like a proper mess. But the promise of something better, of Bat buried deep inside me while I fell apart around him, made the wait worth it.

“Wait.” I forced myself up on shaking legs, my cock bobbing obscenely as I stumbled towards the wardrobe. “Just in case Brad comes looking for me.”

I wedged myself between the wardrobe and the wall, braced my shoulder against the solid oak, and pushed. Hard.

Nothing. Not even a wobble.

I groaned, putting my full weight behind it. The bloody thing didn’t budge. Probably weighed more than my entire flat’s worth of furniture combined. I bet Brad could shift it with his little finger, the bastard.

“Having trouble there, gorgeous?”

“Shut up.” I abandoned the wardrobe and grabbed the flimsy bedside table instead, shoving it against the door. It looked pathetic—a toddler could knock it over—but it would have to do. I placed my glasses on top of it for good luck.

“You know, we could just put a sock on the door,” Bat said, grinning while whipping off his shirt and shimmying out of his jeans with impressive haste. “That classic signal.”

“Sure, if you want a fistful of salt to the face when Brad kicks down the door.”

“Point taken. Now get that cute ass of yours back to this bed before I drag you here.”