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He isn’t freaked out over my spying activities. No, he loves me. He loves me and everything I do seems to turn him on. Maybe we’re both dreaming. If so, I hope neither one of us ever wakes up. “Benny?”
“Yes,” he pants, cupping my backside and helping me ride him through his pants, his big hips lifting off the floor involuntarily. “Tell me. You need anything, I’ll get it. Anything.”
His vow leaves me breathless. “I was hoping you could help me do some research for the stories I want to write.” I lean up and draw him down into a long, wet, winding kiss. “I don’t know what it’s like to suck on my man. Can you show me?”
“Y-you…” A violent shudder wracks him. “You want to suck my dick?”
“Yes, please,” I purr, laying a lick across his mouth. “Please.”
“Sweet Jesus,” he grunts, reaching between us to hurriedly unfasten his pants, tugging down the zipper with a wince. “You suck it as little or as much as you want. I’m grateful just being able to smell you, look at you, bathe you. I don’t expect that mouth to…oh fuck.”
While he was talking, I’ve scooted down his body and backed up on my knees. Now I’m bending down with my bottom in the air, my lips an inch from his turgid erection. “You should expect it,” I whisper, running the tip of my tongue around the head, making his legs jerk on the floor. “If you don’t hold me down and make rough love to my mouth once in a while, how will I be able to write that scene in a book?” I lick him thoroughly once more, then use the lubrication of my own spit to take half of his thick trunk past my lips. His shudders increase the closer his bulbous tip gets to my throat. “Don’t you want to help me?”
“Yes. Christ. Yes.” Sweat is pouring down the sides of his face now, his chest hair matting with perspiration. And when I wrap both hands around his thick arousal, stroking it lovingly, firmly, while suckling on the head, the loud moans he releases into the bathroom are almost deafening. “Dig your knuckles into my balls, baby, or I’m going to come.”
Now that’s something I’ve never read in my notebooks. Continuing to drag his shaft in and out of my mouth, deeper and deeper, I drop my knuckles to his sac and twist them on the hard, smooth surface, watching his stomach shudder, my own doing the same. To have such control over this man’s powerful body—to know all the tricks—is an honor. And my flesh is honoring him by growing wet. So terribly wet and ready. My knees are restless on the marble floor of the bathroom, my tummy in a tight, rippling squeeze.
“It’s not helping. That little girl mouth is too sweet.” I don’t have a single second to prepare before I find myself down on my back with my knees pried open, Benny’s head between my thighs. “You need this for research, too, don’t you?” He gives me a long lick, his eyes glazing over at the taste. “Might have to write my own book about this juicy little peach.” He slaps at it twice, right on top of my clit, the zing of pleasure arrowing right to my stomach. “All this wet ain’t from the bath. My horny girl likes sucking this big, ugly cock.”
I want to tell him it’s beautiful. Every ruddy, pulsing inch. Every vein. But he’s licking me in earnest now. Lights and color and sounds are flashing in front of my eyes, making my dizzy. Somehow I know, I know, I’ve survived every terrible time in my life for this moment. To have this man’s tongue licking through my folds and polishing that elusive berry hungrily. A rushing screech takes place in my ears and I grip his head, my hips rolling upward, without thought, my screams of pleasure bouncing off the wall of the bathroom.
I’m wild. I’m wild for this.
For him.
The orgasm that crests over me is miraculous. An ascension to the pearly gates. I suck down air, body writhing, mouth unable to form words or comprehend the magnitude of the bliss roaring through me. I’m immortalized in that moment with my wetness sputtering out all over his mouth. And then I’m moving. I’m frantic.
Benny lets me push him back into a sitting position and climb onto his lap in a straddle, my right hand guiding his hard sex to my damp hole and cramming it inside, desperate for an anchor that only he can provide. A tether in the storm. And I sink down with a guttural sound, riding his stiffness with frenzied hips, my teeth sinking into the side of his neck, nails scraping down his broad, hairy chest, making him call my name hoarsely.
