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Fuck, I’ll never get tired of seeing her look at me like this.
I could see it every day for the next century, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Mouth, woman. Let me feel it.”
I watch her go to work, taking me to heaven one slow kiss down my body at a time.
When she’s on her knees with my cock in her hand, it’s a miracle I don’t blow right there. But I regain control just as she starts making these slow, devilish strokes down my length, pushing her clasped fingers tightly against my balls.
And when the head of my cock disappears behind those heart-shaped lips, I think I’m in pieces.
No longer whole, and that’s okay.
That’s very, very fucking okay when she sucks like a goddess.
Her tongue works me like mad, pure sorcery as she changes rhythm.
Total delirium in every wide-eyed glance as I fist her hair.
“Destiny, fuck,” I snarl, the only coherent words I can manage.
She isn’t bothered as she sucks me harder, faster, her little hand working a cock that’s far too big for her and her young blue eyes staring up insistently.
My breath becomes a groan, and that shame I should feel at losing my shit so early gets hurled aside by pure ecstasy.
“Destiny!” I pull her hair, winning a loud moan against my cock. “Fuck, that mouth, you’re going to make me—”
With evil precision, her tongue goes there.
Right to the spot that must be my hardwired trigger.
Next thing I know, I’m seeing stars as my balls heave fire and I’m trying to hold myself back from shoving my cock all the way down her throat.
Just enough.
Just enough to push her limits.
Just enough to hear her moaning gag as I boil over, releasing in her mouth until I’m spilling out of her.
Fuck!
This is not coming.
This release rips me out of my own body and slams me back into it, and soon I’m fisting my cock, marking her tits with a few last ropes while her hand works between her legs.
She’s still wearing me when she comes.
Damn good thing, too, or else I might be a little jealous at her fingers doing the work.
“That’s it, Dess. Good fucking girl,” I snarl, my eyes drilling into hers.
I cradle her head against my thigh until she stops shuddering, pressing my wrist against her mouth so she has something to bite.
Unlike roughing it with the otters, she can be as loud as she wants here, but I still enjoy watching her try to stifle the music of her orgasm.
Once she’s on her feet, kissing me again, our rhythm slows but the hunger doesn’t.
It’s different now, yes.
