Page 23 of He Has Pluck

“Juliette,” he says in that rumbling voice. “You’re killing me.” Then he pinches my nipple and takes his cock in his hand to give himself a long thorough stroke.

That’s when I lose my cool, and I actually drool. Pulling his hand away from his cock, I take over, lowering my head until my lips touch him. I suck in his tip and flick my tongue inside that creamy seam oozing with pre-cum. His hands shake as they cover my head, holding on but not pressing as I move down his shaft, lowering my mouth, licking, sucking and moving my fists.

His breathing quickens and his hands fist my hair, and I’m hyperaware of everything about him, every muscle movement, every sound he makes, every breath. His cock jerks inside my mouth as I lower over him again in one long sucking motion until I gag. He goes still, and I pull back and kiss his tip, then lick it as I regain my composure.

“Are you all right?” he rasps, and the care I hear in his words makes my pussy clench down so hard that I take one hand away from his cock and slip it between my legs. I answer him by swallowing him long and hard, opening up my throat and going lower. He groans loudly, and I move faster, up and down, frantic and rubbing my clit with my fingers at the same time until my entire body thunders with the frenzied pistonning.

The instant I feel him tense like he’s seizing up, he lets out a long, loud growl of triumph and release as he pushes up into my mouth and lets everything go, flooding me with that hot sticky cock-lava, his body jolting against me as wave after wave of his release flows from him into me. And I take it all, swallow it and drool some and wipe it on my face, taking his tip as it spurts and branding myself with his seed, with his deepest most valuable treasure, in me and on me, consumed by me, overwhelming me with a sense of largeness.

My pussy is so engorged and my clit so sensitive that a light touch as he groans my name, puts me over the edge. The explosion rocks me, and I collapse onto him, needing to be part of him, needing to share the shattering with him, to feel he’s part of me and I’m part of his individual universe as if we’ve melded together for this one moment in time.

Heaving in deep breaths of air, I lie on his chest and feel the sharp rise and fall mirror mine, hear the thundering of his heart filling my head and soothing me, feeding the bliss that blossomed in the aftermath of my orgasm like daisies popping up after a volcanic eruption.

“I bet I can make you come again,” he says.

A laugh bubbles up from my throat.

“I take that as a challenge,” he says. He flips me onto my back and lies on his side, looming over me. He snakes a hand over my rib cage, his fingers feathering my sensitive skin, making me spark like I’m electrically charged or maybe he is. Maybe we both are because I feel that arc of energy between us every time we’re in the same room. Let alone like this, in the same bed, touching, and I suck in a shuddering breath as his fingers sink into the V between my thighs, and I spread my legs open again. His thumb presses down at my center, and I jump.

“Oh my God.” My voice pitches high, and I hold onto his forearm, not sure if I’m encouraging him or trying to stop him.

“Take a deep breath for me, darlin’. You can do this. Let the sensations have their way with you,” he murmurs in a low, reassuring voice, part sexy, part therapeutic, like some overzealous sex therapist. His hands and fingers touch and caress, tiptoe across my skin in a seductive dance as he teases me, causing echoes of orgasmic tremors.

When he leans over and kisses me on the lips, I register surprise and feel a wave of pleasure that reaches every crevice of my body. He cups my pussy and caresses it as he caresses my mouth with his tongue, tender and insistent, thoughtful and patient. Gradually, his energy fills me, sparking a restless need, deep and rising.

He moves his mouth to my ear, whispers something, but I’m not sure what he says because his fingers are playing lightly in the folds of my pussy, waltzing and dallying, mastering me at every move, until I squirm and want more, need more. I find myself pressing against his light touch and feel the wet desire return with a throbbing force.

Reaching up, I wrap an arm around him and rake my fingers over his bare back, reveling in the power of his muscles, the slick smoothness of his skin, the heat as I breathe in the raw smell of him and me and our sex permeating the air around us.

“I want more,” I say, and he lifts his head to look at me, a twitch in the corner of his mouth. And I realize I made a mistake.

“How much more do you want?” The sexy gravel of his voice may as well be scraping across my clit as my thighs clench together involuntarily. He pushes his hand against my thigh to spread me open again, and my nostrils fill with the scent of that intimate place exposed. I don’t have an answer for him as I lie at his mercy, my legs vibrating with anticipation of his next touch.

It comes suddenly as he drags a finger from deep down, up through the folds of my soaking pussy, over my pulsing clit and up to find a shocking bunch of sensitive nerve endings as I squirm and jump and moan, my hips lifting, begging for more. And he gives it to me, his thumb circling around and then pressing, his fingers finding my opening and plunging in, curling up and arching me high as I scream reflexively.

Shudders of pure pleasure go through me as he moves his fingers, and I clench, squeezing my thighs to wring every ounce of ecstasy from my body, to tighten my hold on him, aware with unnatural clarity of him, his hands, his eyes watching me, his body against mine, his heat and energy pervading my body and more.

As the hammering of my heart slows, he slips his hand from between my thighs and brings his fingers to his mouth, and I watch him suck the glistening juices from my pussy from each one. My heart rate picks up again, pounding erratically. When he’s finished, he pulls me closer and murmurs in my ear. I’m beginning to see this is a thing with him, something I’ve never experienced before, something I’m trying not to appreciate as a lump of emotion rises in my throat.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous, so fucking sexy…” His voice trails off, and his breathing eases, encouraging the fluttering in my chest to settle. I let out a sigh, not pushing him away though the thought lingers in my head that I should.

We lie like this for some time, I’m not sure how long, peaceful and quiet, and his arms, at some point, come around me, holding me.

But when my eyes drift closed, an alarm of self-preservation snaps me to awareness, and I push myself away from him, scrambling from the bed. What the fuck am I doing? I can’t fall asleep with him or allow him to spend the night. I can’t lie in his arms like this, as if we’re… together. As if we have something more than great sex between us.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, groggy, no sense of urgency, no movement to get out of bed. My bed.

“You need to leave.” He lifts his head and looks at me, confused. “Now.” My voice is sharp, a stinging contrast to the quiet of the room, to his relaxed state, like a slap across the face to shake someone from hysteria. He lifts himself up now, and God help me, I stare at the ripple of his muscles and feel my admiration of his body down to my pussy all over again. Shit.

“You can’t stay. You need to leave now.”

He lowers his feet to the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face as if he doesn’t quite get it. But I never gave him any hint that this would be any more than sex—not even that, more like fooling around.

So maybe we did get out of hand, sort of. In hindsight, we should never have taken off our clothes. Then this would have been over long ago, and he’d zip up his pants, throw on his jacket and be on his way, home by now.

“It’s late,” he says.

“Too bad.” I pick up his pants and toss them at him. Then I grab a robe from my closet and put it on.