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“Remember to be quiet, sweet thing. Don’t want anyone to come bursting in while I’ve got my face buried in your pussy.” He drops to his knees on the side of the bed as he reaches for my hips. I let out a small squeak but cover my mouth with my hand so no more sounds can come from me.
His hands shift to my ass, which is now hanging off the side of the bed, but his hold keeps me in place. He lifts my ass at the same time he brings his mouth down on my sex. I almost come off the bed when his tongue sweeps across my clit.
I grip the comforter with my other hand, needing to cling to something as he devours me. His mouth is everywhere. I try to rock my hips when he starts to thrust his tongue in and out of me. My sex clenches around it, but his firm hold on me won’t let me do anything. He’s in control, and he’s licking up every drop of me.
“Vincent,” I beg, lifting my hand from off my mouth. “Please,” I plead.
“I don’t want you to come yet. I’m enjoying myself.”
“You can do it again,” I rush to say.
“Anytime I want?”
“Yes!” I hiss.
“Swear it.”
“Fine, I swear it.” He smirks. I don’t think I understand what I’ve agreed to, but I don’t care. His mouth wraps around my clit, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue flicks back and forth.
The orgasm hits me hard. My back bows off the bed. I clench my teeth, trying to be quiet as ecstasy unlike anything I’ve ever felt rolls through my body until I collapse. My breathing is heavy.
Vincent kisses the insides of my thighs but doesn’t move. I start to wiggle so he’ll let me go, but he doesn't.
“You said anytime,” he reminds me before blowing on my sensitive clit. My whole body jerks. Oh God.
Vincent buries his face between my thighs again. I lose count of how many times the man makes me orgasm before my body finally succumbs to sleep.
CHAPTER11
VINCENT
Sneaking around sucks.Yeah, the element of danger can add a little spice, but having to creep out before anyone can catch us together and then lying alone with the most massive hard-on imaginable is not great.
I close my fist around my shaft and pump it slowly. While I was eating Emma out, I could barely keep from coming in my pants as I imagined what it would be like to shove my cock inside her tiny pussy. But I figured her first time should be pleasurable. She’s so small, I am half afraid that I’m gonna tear her up.
It takes a while for me to fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m in a foul mood.
This house is made of paper, and even from my basement bedroom, I can hear Mrs. Charles in the kitchen making breakfast. There’s the creak of the floorboards over by the dresser and the sharp sound of the microwave being turned on. I do a quick run in the shower and then climb the stairs. When I reach the landing, Mrs. Charles spots me.
“Hope I didn’t wake you, honey,” she says. Her bright red apron is dusted with flour, and there’s a pan of rolls at her elbow.
“You didn’t. I always get up this early. What are you cooking?” I sniff.
“Some cinnamon rolls. They’re Emma’s favorite. She likes them with fresh blueberries and a little whip cream. Do you have any preferences for yours?”
I mosey over to the counter and peer over Mrs. C’s shoulder. “I never thought about putting fruit or nothing else on the top of a cinnamon roll. Sounds pretty fancy to me.”
A little pink colors her cheeks. “Oh, I got this idea when I was traveling. There’s a place up in Rhode Island that serves just cinnamon buns. And they served them with all kinds of things. Sometimes cereal on top, sometimes Oreo cookies, sometimes with ice cream.”
“Sounds more like dessert than breakfast. I’ll take four.” I stick my hands under the faucet and give them a good scrub. “I’ll make Emma’s and bring them to her. Blueberries, whip cream. Anything else?”
“Breakfast in bed? She’ll get spoiled that way.”
“Nothing wrong with spoiling a pretty girl.” I freeze in the middle of wiping off my hands. Have I given away too much? I cast a side glance toward Mrs. C, who doesn’t appear to notice my comment.
I plate two cinnamon rolls and pluck a saucepan off the pot rack above the island. “Sugar?” I ask.
Mrs. C points out the canister in the corner. “Who taught you how to cook? You said you didn’t get many home-cooked meals.”
