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I release my hold on his cock and slide down until I’m positioned between his legs. With both palms atop his thighs, I begin slowly kneading his muscles, easing the tension. As I rub him, inner thigh and quad, even up to his hips, his cock perks up. It jumps on his belly when my fingertips skim the underside of his sack.
“When you put your hand on the top of my foot that day, before that scene,” I recall softly, his eyes fluttering open to watch me speak. “That was the difference between me doing the scene for the contract and me doing the scene because I actually enjoy my job.”
Slowly, I bring my hands to his balls, wrapping one around them at the base, and use my fingertips to gently drag my nails over the hot, bumpy flesh. “You made me remember how much I love my job,” I clarify, loving how his breath hitches in reaction to me playing with his balls.
Along the curve of his hip, precum drips, and I look to his cock to find the head resting in a large pool. I sweep my finger through the mess, collecting it.
“You’re so messy for me,” I breathe, my nipples hardening. His eyes go to the mess, then to my hands, then to my breasts before he squeezes them shut.
“Scarlett,” he groans. “Touch me,please.”
Suddenly, I have an idea better than making him come from ball play. “Come on,” I whisper, “come to the bathroom.”
He blinks at me, caught between almost ejaculating from the foreplay and the urge to obey me. I raise my eyebrows and he swings his legs off the bed, using those big hands to hold his cock and balls as he walks to the bathroom with me.
I turn on the light and find us in the mirror, sweaty and pink-cheeked from the passion.
He dwarfs me in height, his hips nearly a foot above mine, and as I nudge us forward, his balls come to rest atop the bathroom counter. He hisses from the cool tile, and I place my palms on his belly and chest, pulling myself to his back. His entire body deflates with relaxation. My breasts press into him from behind, and his eyes pinch on my hands in the reflection, watching the way I soothe and calm him. His long cock bobs above his big, heavy sac, and my pussy clenches when I see the precum strung between his head and the sink basin.
He’s so ready.
My poor, beautiful man has been celibate for years. This perfect, most amazing cock has been shelved and unused fortoo long. My hands traverse the ridges of his carved muscles, and take almost all of his sac in one palm, wrapping the other around the base of his shaft.
“Keep your eyes open, and watch me give you what you need,” I tell him, raising to my toes, calves burning as I lean into him. His posture melts from the heated moment, allowing me to rise up enough to rest my chin atop his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, and I watch his reflection as his eyes flutter closed, taking a long inhale with his nose in my hair.
“I love your hair,” he says, voice rough.
“Hmm,” I humm, relishing the way he nuzzles into me for comfort, the way he lingers in my scent like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.
He faces forward as I tighten my grip on his balls. Round, full and heavy, I don’t know if it’s just because they’re Cohen’s and I’m quickly reaching the place in our relationship where every single thing about him turns me on, or if these are just really amazing balls. Whatever it is, my mouth waters. I ache to drop to my knees and feel his hard cock rest along my face as I suck and lick those glorious things until he unleashes a load on my face, streaking my hair.
“Cohen,” I breathe, staying focused on his pleasure and his pleasure alone. “Watch us.”
Fingers splayed along the edge of the counter, he tips his head forward slightly, gazing into the mirror.
I squeeze his balls and his jaw flexes, letting go of only the tiniest moan. I pump his cock, his precum making the best lube. Twisting my hand over his head before pulling it down, loosening my hold as I near the base, I jerk him. Stroke after calculated stroke, I jerk as I squeeze and knead his sac, nearly drooling at the way his abs tighten and his head bobs.
“You’re so good,” I tell him, realizing that good is a broad statement, but holding him like this, his strong back to my chest, manhood in my hands, I can’t think of anything more eloquent. “So good,” I moan as I twist my hand over his head, smearing more warm precum down his length.
“Lift your eyes,” I breathe at the back of his ear, calves burning as I stand on the balls of my feet. Across from us, our image blinks back, our eyes idling somewhere in the in-between. His lips curl up just slightly on the edge, a semblance of happiness amidst the need. Then Cohen does something unexpected and sweet, making my belly burn with desire, intensifying the demanding ache between my legs.
“Can I come for you?” he asks, strain etching his neck. I bite into his shoulder gently, then kiss the mark I’ve left behind.
“Put your hand on mine,” I whisper, and watch as he does just that. Slowly then, I slip mine out, and release his balls, loving their swollen state in the reflection. “Do it,” I tell him, narrowing my gaze, sharpening my tone, demanding his release.
My cunt spasms at the sight of that strong hand gripping himself. Why is seeing how a man touches himself so fucking hot? I like it on set, and try not to look, as I don’t want to fantasize about co-workers. That’s how hot it is.
And seeing how they masturbate? The way they bring themselves to orgasm—it’s so intimate, private, and personal. And so hot. So. Fucking. Hot.
My body literally incinerates from the inside out as his biceps flexes, his arm jutting out as he pumps his length, thumb and tip of middle finger not even touching. His balls jerk.
My mouth waters.
My pussy aches.
My fingers dance at my sides.
Placing my palms on his shoulder blades, I slowly and softly knead his back as he jacks off, staring at our reflection in the mirror.
