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Sara
We clean up separately,and when I emerge from Chris’s bathroom, he’s lying on his back on the bed, hands behind his head and soft, uncut cock resting against the juncture of his thigh.
He points at me and then at his mouth, sticking his tongue out. “I made a promise I intend to keep.”
I crawl onto the bed and over his body. There are some logistics to figure out, but moments later, I’m kneeling over Chris’s face, my back to the headboard, and watching Chris’s dick harden just from getting up close and personal with my pussy.
His arms wrap around me, and we both adjust until I’m right where he wants me. Then, his tongue takes a broad swipe between my folds, and I buck forward, catching myself with my palms on his chest.
Chris hums and pulls me down harder. I can feel his breath, the tip of his tongue as it explores, the heat of his mouth as he sucks my clit in.
The noises he makes, the enthusiasm with which his arms tighten around me, and the sight of his cock, hard and with a glistening bead of pre-cum, make me feel sexy as hell.
I trust Chris enough to tell me if my weight is too much or if he needs more room to breathe, and it’s freeing. My body is balanced between my hands on his chest, the wolf tattoo peeking from between my splayed fingers, and his face. With gentle squeezes and moans, Chris encourages me to move.
I have no idea what Chris is doing, but my hips rock with him, and the pressure builds inside me. I close my eyes and let my head fall back. His shoulders dig into me as my thighs tighten, and I grind against him harder. Noises fall out of my mouth, wordless moans, and at one point an “Oh fuck that’s good,” which makes Chris chuckle.
My orgasm is building, and I lean more weight on my palms. I’m not sitting on his face—I’m riding it, and oh god, my skin flushes as my orgasm roars through me and my elbows buckle.
Chris follows me, lifting his head to wring every last bit of it out of me as I collapse on his chest, my legs stretching out and hitting the headboard before I kick my feet up. I clench on nothing so hard my body aches and my thighs clamp around his head.
Soon I’m too sensitive and twitch away. Chris turns his head to kiss my thigh and squeezes my butt with his palms.
I’m limp and satisfied, resting my head on Chris’s thigh. His cock is hard against my shoulder, and I wrap my hand around it and squeeze.
Chris just strokes my body everywhere he can reach, from the back of my calves to my back and sides.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” I murmur.
“Okay,” Chris says, amused.
I give him some incentive and squeeze his cock. “There’s something I want to try next.”
We have dinner plans tonight,the note on the counter says. I’ve just come out of the yoga studio after a teaching session and am taking a break before I start editing videos. Aside from the note, there’s no sign of Chris, and when I check out front, his car is gone.
I woke up next to him this morning. After riding his face last night, we’d taken advantage of the position we were still in and sixty-nined. We’d spent the whole night in bed together, talking and pleasuring each other, staying up later than I have probably since Zoe started sleeping through the night.
Chris was conked out next to me when I woke up, so I slipped out of bed and up to my room to shower and get to work for the day.
Ever since the live session with Chris, my inbox and notifications have been mayhem—and so have my subscriptions. I did a good job working the bare minimum while my friends were here, but now it’s an enormous backlog. I answer emails, respond to questions, and post on social media about the second session until the late afternoon when a hand on my shoulder startles me.
“Oh, hi,” I say to Chris, taking my headphones off. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. I sniff, and he smells like smoke—wood smoke. “It’s okay. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Curious, I get up and follow Chris. When we pass through the great room, I see a blazing fire in the pit on the back patio. We continue into the kitchen, where I can hear someone moving around and muttering. There’s a guy with his head buried in the fridge, digging through my produce, and even more food covers the counters—like enough to feed an army.
“Diedrich,” Chris says, and the man pulls himself out of the fridge. Chris says a few more things in German to him. He’s young, blonde hair slicked back and a short goatee covering his chin. He washes his hands quickly and offers me a handshake.
“Sara, this is Diedrich, Diedrich, Sara. He’ll be cooking dinner for us tonight.”
“Hello,” Diedrich nods at me.
My eyebrows rise. “Oh?”
“I asked around, and Diedrich is the sous chef at a popular vegan restaurant in Berlin. It’s not traditional German food, but he’s experimented for himself a lot, and he’ll be making dinner tonight and some leftovers that we can freeze and enjoy later.”
“What? Really?” My hands go to my mouth, and I wonder how on Earth Chris got this idea. “That sounds amazing.”
