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His strokes are steady, firm, and they make a slow heat build low in my abdomen.
I’ve never kissed like this before, with so much passion and heat. It feels like I’m burning up, my skin burning where he touches me. When he starts to move, I don’t think twice. I let him guide us back to the couch, and then he pulls me down onto his lap.
Straddling him, I let my hands wander over his broad shoulders, and down his sculpted chest, slowly trailing down to the abs I know he’s hiding beneath his shirt. I run my fingers over each hard indentation before coming to rest on the zipper of his dress slacks.
In one small motion, I unzip him. I have no clue what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it, but I want this. No, I need this. As if his brain has finally caught up with my actions, he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against mine.
We’re both panting, gasping for air. Sebastian releases his hold on the back of my neck, and his hand falls to the cushion beside us. It seems like he’s giving up. As if he’s defeated.
Does he want this as badly as I do? As badly as I need him? Our eyes bleed into one another, my blue into his hazel. I can see the confusion, the anger, and sadness lingering there, and I want to make it go away. I want to heal both of us, to forget just for a minute.
Reaching for the button on his slacks, I flick it, and only then does he make an attempt to stop me, his hand coming to rest against mine. His hold is lax as if he doesn’t really want to stop me. There’s a firm bulge pressed against my core, and I know for certain he wants this, so why is he stopping? Looking up at him through coal-black lashes, I question him without even speaking.
“We shouldn’t.” His voice is smoky, it clings to my insides like glue.
“Please,” desperation drips from that one single word, but I don’t care how desperate I sound or look. I just want him.
After a moment, he releases my hand, letting his fall back to where they were before. He leans back into the cushion, his chest rising and falling quicker, and quicker giving him away.
I take that as an invitation and continue undoing his pants. I might have held onto my virginity, but I’m no saint. I’ve fooled around and given a blowjob or two before, not enough times to be considered a pro, but enough times that I must’ve been decent enough because it didn’t take long for them to come.
Crawling off his lap, I drop down to my knees in front of him, freeing his massive erection at the same time. I can’t help myself. I need to see him. Peeking up at him, I take his heavy cock into my hand. His eyes are hooded, almost closed, but I can still see the lust and need swirling in the depths of them.
Leaning in, I take the velvet mushroom head between my lips. Never breaking eye contact, I press my tongue to the underside and listen as he releases a low rolling groan.
That sound, it zings right through me, making my core pulse with need. His hand comes up to my face, cradling my cheek, his thumb gently skimming over my heated skin.
It’s such a simple gesture, there is something so endearing in that touch, it makes my chest swell. My heart feels full, fuller than it’s ever been. For once, I feel whole, normal, less broken. With his other hand, he threads his fingers into my hair and strokes my scalp, making tiny rivulets of pleasure cascade down my spine.
I groan around his cock, working more of his length into my mouth.
He’s bigger than I’m used to, so it takes me a bit to get a good rhythm going, but once I do, I start to bob my head up and down, my tongue flicking over the slit of his cock, before circling back around the head. He tastes like soap and salt, and I can’t get enough of him. He’s like a bad habit that I can’t kick.
With every pass of my tongue, the muscles in Sebastian’s legs and abdomen tighten. His touch becomes rougher, and his fingers dig into my scalp. Intentional or not, he ends up holding my head in place while thrusting his hips upward at the same time. He’s chasing his release, asking for it without words.
His cock hits the back of my throat, and I gag around his length.
“Fuck, I’m sorry…” He whispers harshly, skimming his fingers over my cheek. Looking up at him, I can see his dilated eyes, the pleasure of what he just did seeping from every pore on his body. He might be sorry mentally, but physically he wants to do it again, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t influence me to do it again.
