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An intense urge to soothe Jack’s pain, reward him for opening up, be vulnerable for him, has me sliding off the side of the lounge chair onto my knees. His brow furrows, as if confused about why we’re not kissing anymore, but when I reach for the zipper of his pants, understanding dawns and he groans, the bulge behind his fly doubling in size.
“Ah Jesus, baby, I’ve dreamed of this. Day and night.” He helps me draw down his zipper and hands me his rigid inches in a shaking first. “All it needs is a little kiss and I’m going to lose it, Maisy, Maisy, please. Kiss it.”
“I’m going to do more than kiss it,” I whisper, pumping him in my grip.
“No.” The fingers of his left hand dig into the chair cushion, his right hand settling on the back of my head, his thighs jerking open in what seems like an involuntary spasm. “No.”
“Mmmhmm,” I hum, slowly drawing my tongue up the side of his thick stalk, then back down, watching his abdomen heave and shudder in response.
“Shit,” he hisses. I give the same slow treatment to the other side, performing on instinct, somehow knowing to saw the tip of my tongue back and forth in the slit at the top, my confidence building when Jack’s hips lift off the chair, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Fuck. Give that cock a home now, little girl. Bury it in that sexy mouth. Make me come.”
Urged on by his guttural speech, I swirl my tongue around the smooth head and carefully slide his stiffness into my mouth, watching for his reaction, wanting to make sure I’m doing it right. And I quickly learn there is no wrong way to do this. I knew a man’s sex was sensitive, but my tongue seems to heighten that sensitivity to another level, a mere flicker of my tongue making Jack suck in a breath or jerk his lower body. He’s salty and huge and male, the ridges of his arousal passing my lips faster and faster, eventually meeting my throat—and that’s when his enjoyment really skyrockets.
As a result, so does mine.
Settling into my power, I fist him at the base, right above his thick thatch of black hair, and glide my hand up and down that ruddy column, stroking him upward until my hand meets my mouth, then I travel back down, up, down, letting him brush the back of my throat repeatedly, until he’s urging my face toward his lap with a desperate hand. “You like sucking Daddy’s dick, baby? Sure feels like it.” He breaks off on a growl, his hips starting to tick up, up, up. “Sure goddamn feels like you can’t get enough.”
I moan around his stiffness, the involuntary sound causing my throat to open and in pushes Jack, his shout of triumph loud in the backyard. The intrusion makes me choke and cough, my eyes tearing, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m instantly addicted to Jack’s loss of control. And letting him into my throat is how I achieve it, so I do it again, relaxing my muscles and allowing his pulsing erection to curve down my throat, linger, linger, before jerking back and gasping, reveling in Jack’s painfully blissful expression every time.
“You’re amazing,” he grits out, thrusting his hips up and down, rifling his shaft in and out of my mouth. God, I’m so wet just from watching him. His peeled back lips, his muscular arms and chest flexing as he guides my head down, down, hips pumping up, up. “Amazing. Amazing. One more time, baby. Be a good girl and let Daddy put his cock down your pretty throat.”
My own hips are canting back and forth, riding the air as if I’m straddling Jack, and I look up at him, watch him ogle the undulations of my body, his eyes going glassy, his breath turning short. So short. And then I press down, pushing my lips as far down his huge appendage as they’ll go, his pubic hair tickling my lips. His fingers twist in my hair, his entire body going stock still, before something breaks. Snaps.
“Maisy. Oh fuck!”
Thick, salty liquid rains down the back of my throat and I have the urge to pull away, but I battle it, entranced by the pleasure taking place above me. His earlier turmoil forgotten completely, he pants my name over and over again, his sex jerking and spurting within me. Finally, after what feels like forever, Jack pops free of my lips with a long, satisfied grunt, still ripe and semi-hard in front of my face. But I’m only given a split second to marvel at him.
Using his grip in my hair, he forces me to stand, guiding me closer until I’m straddling him on the chair. And still he urges me higher, until my knees are buried in the cushion on either side of his head. He shoves my skirt up around my waist and, realizing what’s coming, I cry out, falling forward onto my hands and knees.
