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Fuck.
He pushed so far in.
I widened my throat, welcoming him even farther.
“Shit, you feel so fucking good. Your lips wrapped around my cock. Your mouth fucking warm and wet, so tight around me.” He grunted, his speed increasing.
I shifted on my knees, getting a stronger stance, and I reached around him, my hand splayed out on his ass. I yanked him closer, and he ground against me, his cock swelling and then unloading inside of my mouth.
I waited until he was all done, and as he pulled back out, I swallowed, then tilted my head up, a sated smile on my face. His eyes darkened all over again, the lust was still there, and we shared a look for a moment. An intimate shiver went through my body. I wasn’t sure what that look was for him on his end, but all the nerves I’d had earlier ceased away. I felt our connection flare between us, almost vibrating.
I loved that feeling. This connection.
He ran his thumb over my mouth tenderly. “It’s like this mouth was made just for me.” He leaned down, capturing it with his as he lifted me up and placed me on my table, moving between my legs, never breaking contact with my mouth. His tongue slid inside, and soon I was clinging to him.
He pulled back, cursing. “We’re supposed to be going slow.”
I gave him a wry look. “We can try again on the next date.”
He barked out a laugh, his thumb grazing my bottom lip again, as his eyes gave me once-over. “If that's the case, let’s get this date done so I can take you home and you’re going to feel my tongue slide so deep in your other lips, that your legs are going to wrap around my neck and squeeze long, and hard, and slow until you forget you even have legs, and that’s when I’ll make you scream, and I’ll lick you clean, taking all the cream you give me.” His voice dropped, throatily. “You’re my dessert tonight, Billie.”
My body trembled. Holy shit. I asked, not really joking, my legs wavering already, “What’s our first activity again? Can we skip it?”
He was tucking himself back in, readjusting his pants as he shot me a rueful expression. “I wish, but I meant it. You’d be pissed if we missed. We’re going to goat yoga.”
My mouth dropped and I shouted, jumping off the table, “Goat yoga? We’re going to be late. Come on.”
I was in heaven.
Little baby goat, kiddie goat heaven with their little neatly trimmed hooves, and their little heads, and their little ears, and their little adorable black noses. And their tiny jumps like a hee-yah and a yaw-whoo as they jumped around and then bounced on our backs.
So in goat heaven.
And the mamas.
I’d not even gotten over to the one big mama, all white, who was lying on the ground. Her milk so full and needing to be eaten by the little babies, but she seemed content as her head was lying in a girl’s lap. She was petting the mama as the mama’s jaw was chewing over her cud. The owners who hosted the goat yoga had it set up in their barn on their farm. The barn was adorable, freshly painted. Clean stalls. They had cleared out the main room in the barn and added blankets and large pillows on the floor. People brought their own yoga mats, or like Brett and me, used some mats that were offered from the business.
When we first arrived, as we drove down their driveway, there was a line of vehicles already parked. Brett pulled in at the end. There were other couples walking just ahead of us. A few holding hands. For a yoga class, there were a decent amount of men in the class. The majority were woman, but that was the norm when I’d been to a class, so I wasn’t surprised.
A few of the guys came solo, or with friends, and it was obvious they were there to meet women. Or was somewhat obvious. A few guys played it cool, or they genuinely were only interested in yoga while their friends were eyeing up anyone who was eyeing them back. Three other guys were there on dates, but all the guys did double-takes when they saw Brett joining the group.
Everyone congregated outside the barn until the yoga instructor and the owner of the place gave a talk, introducing themselves and explaining more about the farm. About the goats. Giving the rules of how to handle the goats, which was basically to be aware the kid goats would jump on them. The older mama goats would love to be petted, which was happening right now.
The owner came over, seeing I was obsessed with the mama goat because she was my next target to go and love all over her. She sat down, crossing her legs. “That’s Ruby. She’s a Saanen. They’re all white and their ears point upwards. Ruby’s the big mama around here.”
Most of the baby goats, or kids, were all different colors with floppy ears.
She saw me watching them and added, “They’re Nubian goats. They’re spotted all over, all different colors, and you can see their ears hang down, not like the Saanens. You’re an animal lover, huh?”
“Yes,” I breathed out, feeling high and giddy as three of the baby goats chased each other, going past us. One tripped and would’ve fallen into Brett’s lap, but he caught it, sitting up from his pose.
The owner laughed, reaching over and picking up the baby from him, setting her back on her feet. The goat was off, like a race car, careening back out of the barn where the other two had gone. She leaned back on her hands, resting them behind her and lifted her chin toward the opposite end of the barn. “We have all sorts of goats. A few sheep.”
My eyes were just getting bigger and bigger. “Any other animals?”
“A few alpacas—”
“Alpacas?” Say it ain’t so. Alpacas? I was in goat heaven, sitting near an alpaca heaven, and I had no idea?
