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“Not for bed—” My words cut off with a hiss as she stroked her tongue down my shaft, the tip delving into the nooks and crannies of every vein and artery that wrapped around my length.
Groaning, I closed my eyes to process how fucking good that felt, then they popped open again because watching was half the fun when it came to Star.
With the malevolent glee of earlier having been replaced with a hazy need, I circled my fingers around her lips.
I watched as she tensed a little, knowing she was preparing for me to shove her face into my crotch, and I made sure to keep my movements gentle.
The thumb she'd sucked traced the corner of her mouth as she returned to the glans and started tonguing the slit where pre-cum was already bubbling.
Having relaxed into my touch, I watched as she grabbed me around the base, held me fast, then treated the underside of my dick to the same treatment.
She coated me in spit, getting me wet and messy, then finally, her lips were there, sinking around me.
“Fuck,” I groaned, elongating the word as ecstasy sparked inside my veins, boiling my blood until I knew explosion was imminent just as a goddamn safety feature.
I watched when she sank down, and down, and down. Her fingers retreated as she broached the lower inches. I grunted as she flicked her tongue at the base, teasing an area that was rarely touched.
Keeping my hips from bucking seemed to be an impossible task, especially as I watched her stay there, a calmness in her eyes that I didn’t share, her amusement tangible as she swallowed around me, her throat doing stuff to my cock that should have been illegal in at least forty states.
I stared at her, feeling tongue-tied when mine wasn’t even busy, and then I whispered, “You need to stop.”
Some of that glee returned to her gaze. Less sadistic than before but definitely giving me no quarter.
She shook her head as she retreated, moving up and down my length as she continued her ministrations.
I needed to talk, had to speak, but I didn’t want to trigger her. Touch was one thing, words were another, and even as overwhelmed as I was right now, I knew—
“My bad girl,” I rasped, unable to keep the words back. “So bad for me. That fucking mouth is a sinner’s paradise, Star. It’s hell not coming down your throat the second those sinful lips are swallowing every inch of me.”
The words had her whimpering and I watched as her hand snaked down between us.
Knowing the destination, I rasped, “Let me touch that naughty pussy, Star. You know I won’t stop until I make you sing.”
This time, when she swallowed around my cock, it had nothing to do with teasing me.
Still, as lust-crazed as I was, I noticed a distinct difference in her reaction between using the word 'bad' and using the word 'naughty.'
As I made a mental note of that, I rumbled a test, “I want you to come on my face, Star. Can you do that for me, my naughty girl?”
Her mouth, strained around my shaft, quivered.
“Come on,” I crooned. “Sit on my face, my naughty, naughty girl.”
Slowly, she retreated, each inch taking a fucking lifetime, making me ball my hands into fists around the sheets at either side of my hips as she tortured me on the way up.
Then, when my dick was missing the heat of her mouth, she jumped off the bed.
I reared upright, wondering what the fuck I’d done as she headed for the door.
“Star!” I called out, but she ignored me. Then, I sank back in relief when she twisted the key in the lock and returned to me, dragging clothes off as she went.
That she hadn’t locked the door before starting to kiss her way down my abs told me how spontaneous she’d been this morning, and I was glad for that—glad because I wanted that between us.
We did have internal minefields, but the past was in the past, and I didn’t want it to affect this, us. We deserved to own our futures, to own our pleasures, and for them not to be tainted by the people who hurt us.
When she stood beside the bed, all my thoughts were erased because she wriggled her hips, dropping her sweatpants to the floor, revealing that she, too, had gone commando last night.
My gaze flickered over the myriad scars on her body. Acts of violence that had been perpetrated against her, ones that might have taken her from me. She was a survivor, though, and those scars were proof of that fact.
