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There’s the tiniest pause prior to my name being quietly called, “Tuck?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Why are you stuttering?”
My lower half rocks upward once more without my consent. “Hard to focus.”
“Why?”
“Because y-y-you wanna talk about that while I’m trying not to beg you to do something else.”
Her question is almost inaudible. “Like?”
Hesitation to reach out and guide her hand to my swollen cock doesn’t exist. “This.”
Hearing her breath hitch at the same time her fingers flex has my jaw tumbling to my lap.
Greedy growls lingering in my throat.
“Beg me,” my beautiful goddess instructs as she tightens her grasp. “Beg me for whatever you want.”
“Please, take me out,” I thoughtlessly grunt, mind hazy with a growing, insatiable need to have her.
Be had by her.
Now.
Right. Fucking. Now.
June’s actions are nimble and swift and completed with so much confidence I can’t stop myself from groaning about what I want next. “Swallow me.” Wetting my lips is preceded by repeating the request in a grittier tone. “Please, fucking swallow me, June.” The instant the demand has finished leaving my mouth it’s met. Her wet, white-hot confines engulf my shaft in a single motion, trapping the tip of my dick in the back of her throat when she attempts to press her lips together. “Apollo have mercy, baby,” I whimper, cock swelling, ready to burn my name, my birthdate, my entire fucking belief system the length of her throat. “You’re so fucking good.”
The words prompt her nails to latch onto my inner thighs for leverage.
Her knees to meet the hardwood floors on a loud thud.
Strands of hair to brush the tattoos on my lower abdomen.
Spit ceaselessly collects and slathers itself along my shaft allowing for the bobbing motion that begins to be simultaneously smooth and savage.
Sloppy yet so devoted to slathering every last inch that I welcome the mess.
That I incoherently implore for more of it.
That I slide my fingers into her hair so her nose can be pressed against my base as I moan, “Keep going, June Bug. Show me how good you really fucking are.”
Drops of dribble dart past her lips for my tightening nuts each time she drags her mouth back up to then dive back down as if chasing the tiny bits of drool, she left behind. Her determination to catch the runaway trickles has my dick plunging further and further into depths so scorching and so sacred that they almost feel like sacrilege to even think about touching let alone to actually do it.
I force myself to open my eyes to view the undulating wave of locks rolling across my fingers every time she works her swollen mouth and wild tongue around my shaft, worshiping me like I’m the ancient deity overdue for praise rather than her. “You look like a fucking goddess on my cock, baby.”
My words have her clamping down hard.
Sucking faster.
“Own me,” I wolfishly command at the same time I slightly jerk my hips into the heavenly suction. “Make me fucking feel that shit.”
What was once controlled bobbing quickly transitions into crazed gagging. Over and over and over again, June’s throat constricts around my cock, claiming it the way it was demanded, clutching it like she’s the only one who can ever have permission to possess it, like it’s her property.
Like I’m her property.
Rare, unrestrained primal grunts are attached to harsh yanks meant to both dominate her and surrender myself. “Choke on it for me, baby,” I plead upon the burning in my balls bursting through my shaft. “Every.” The first rope of cum coats her stilling tongue. “Last.” The next collects and clogs her throat. “Fucking.” Another splash reaches her inner cheeks. “Drop.” One final spurt spreads throughout the closed space yet all are guzzled down as if she’s been starving, and this is the sacramental sacrifice she’s been waiting an eternity for. Additional groans pierce the air prior to another airy compliment escaping, “Perfect.”
And Fate help me because June Bailey is perfect.
Perfect for this moment.
Perfect for this place.
Perfect for this time.
Who knows.
Maybe even perfect for me.
Chapter 9
June
Turning the blow dryer off is quickly followed by me picking up my phone and adding a checkmark emoji to the next to last item on my birthday checklist.
Truth pinned to the easel?
I’m freaking out about dying my hair. Sure, it’s just the tips. And yeah, purple blends in better than other colors, but I’ve never done anything like this before.
That’s why it’s on the list.
While my birthday typically consists of Chinese food takeout and streaming a classic film like Kiki's Delivery Service or My Neighbor Totoro this year, my roommate slash fool around mate – which would basically be a live in fuck buddy if we were fucking but we aren’t – suggested I do something different.
Make a “mini” bucket list of five things I’ve wanted to do but haven’t been able to for whatever reason and today, we would do them.
