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Definitely mine right now.
“Sarah Jo,” he bites out.
I pop off just long enough to answer him. “Yeah, baby?”
It takes him a few minutes to answer the question because I part my lips and go right back to sucking him. I work him with my tongue, moving from the tip to the base and then back up again. He’s so hard and getting harder with each stroke. He’s exactly what I need to hold onto, someone solid in the shit storm that is my life. And maybe not just in the stormy parts, something whispers in my head. I don’t think that’s my inner Damsel in Distress, either. It might be my heart, but I’m not listening.
Pick groans something that sounds like a curse. “Tell me you’re stopping, because I’m not.”
Nope. No intention of stopping here.
And then he totally loses control. He pushes through the tight ring of my lips before popping back out again. I take him as deep as I can, not wanting this to end.
I need this.
I need him.
Pick
I fuck her mouth. Not sure what else to call it, but the sight of my dick sliding in and out of Sarah Jo’s pretty pink mouth makes me feel dirty as sin and twice as blissful as heaven. Sarah Jo on her knees, wrapped around me like I’m her favorite flavor of sweet, is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen. Her water-slicked hair makes her look like a naughty mermaid, naked, kneeling. Needing.
She moans, and the sound starts in my dick and plays straight up to my heart. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m driving faster and harder, hammering in and out of her mouth like it’s her pussy. It feels so goddamned good. Better than anything anyone’s ever done for me before, which is why I’m seconds away from blowing down her throat and then yanking out and painting her tits with my jizz. Watching her take me isn’t helping me hold back any, either. We need to slow this down before I disgust her.
“Christ, Sarah Jo. You want to pull back? I’m not going to last.”
Her eyes twinkle up at me, and fuck me, but she doesn’t let go. Not one inch.
Instead, she sucks me back in deep, her tongue rubbing my dick until I can’t take it, and I blow up harder than a goddamned forest fire. There’s a fucking inferno in my balls, and Sarah Jo is the only cure. I come, hard and fast, and she swallows me down. She’s not letting go, not now, and my whole world is nothing and no one but Sarah Jo, right there on her knees, giving me something I hadn’t known I needed.
“Fuck me,” I grit out. Those aren’t the poetic words she deserves. They’re not the pretty words that would tell her how much I enjoyed what she just did. But I’ve got nothing. She smiles and swallows, and I shudder and curse and try to pretend that she hasn’t completely undone me. She reaches around me and flips off the water, which is already running lukewarm. The next Rogue into the shower is gonna curse me.
Or cheer.
There should definitely be cheering.
With a small smile, Sarah Jo pulls my towel off the rod, wipes her mouth, and hands it to me. Holy. FUCK.
And then she says the only thing that could make today better. Well, other than maybe three little words that I’ve previously thought belonged on a candy heart, but that I’m starting to want to hear from her.
“You want to go make that RV of yours rock?”
“Hell, yeah.” I drag on my shorts, wrap the towel around her, and pull her up into my arms. “You’ve got a turn coming to you, honey.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sarah Jo
After too many hours on my feet, I’m glad to curl up for my dinner break and hold a book instead of a spatula. The way I see it, I have forty-five perfect alone-time minutes until I have to return to the cafeteria, and I plan to maximize each and every one of them. Because fire camp tends toward the primitive and there’s not a whole lot of places to go to get away from everyone on your break unless you’re partial to trees and bushes, the cooks have rigged up an impromptu break room in the small building that doubles as a pantry. In addition to a stunning quantity of industrial-grade metal shelving holding a lifetime supply of tomato sauce and syrup, there are two bright green plastic lawn chairs, plenty of pillows, a small TV, and whatever else the girls have left behind over years of stolen breaks. We’ve nicknamed our hidey hole the Chateau du Nap, and while I suspect it’s not quite so secret, it’s still pretty sweet.
