Player(51)

The feel of being locked between his thighs was one of the most satisfying sensations I’d ever experienced.

My hand was still on his shaft, stroking him gently, though with less concentration now that I was moving and kissing and multitasking. But down I went until my chin bumped his crown. My heart chugged, a jolt of anticipation racing up my spine. I kept kissing down his stomach alongside his cock; my cheek brushed it, my nose.

His fingers dove into my hair, gathering it so he could see. I glanced up at him. Met his eyes. Stuck out my tongue and dragged it up the salty, satiny length of his cock.

He hissed, arching his back just a little, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Hold the base. Like that. Kiss the tip.”

I took a breath. Opened my mouth. Placed the crown in my mouth.

We both moaned. Mine rumbled down his shaft.

“Mmm,” he said through lips pinned shut, the bottom between his teeth. “Feel it with your tongue. Taste it. Do what you want, whatever you want.” The words were almost lost.

So I did. I felt the skin on my tongue, unable to compare it to anything, the slick softness, the salty taste of skin and seed. My tongue found the notch of his crown, tested the firm ridge where the flesh changed consistency. It rolled around the tip, rested him against the flat of my tongue.

“Stroke,” he said.

My hand pumped in rhythm to my mouth.

“Now, take it deeper.”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head, lowering my mouth until it was so full of him, I could barely breathe.

“N-not too deep. Don’t…want to hurt you.” His hips moved gently, like he wanted to pull out, so I did as he’d said, stroking what I couldn’t take with my hand as I rose and lowered my mouth again. “F-fuck.”

I wanted to ask if I was doing it right, but…well, my mouth was occupied. I opened my eyes and looked up the line of his body.

Sam was stretched out before me, arm behind his head, face bent in pleasure, eyes hooded and dark but for the ring of gold of his irises. Every curve, every plane, every angle was a feast for my eyes, for my senses. For my mind and soul. And my body responded, from the rush of heat between my thighs to my aching nipples. From my hands around his cock to my tongue that wanted to taste every inch of him.

“Raise your ass up,” he said. “I want to see it.”

I pulled in my knees, arched my back. He reached for my breast, his fingertips searching for my nipple to tease it, twist it. My pace quickened, my tongue flat against him.

“Suck. Gently.”

I did, tightening the force of my tongue just a little, just enough, judging by the intake of breath and force of his hips. Faster I moved, humming, purring. Faster his hips moved until my jaw ached.

I slowed, and he slowed with me. I pumped him, spent a moment with the tip in my mouth, licking him, my tongue sweeping around his crown. My mouth was so strangely full, so oddly wet with spit and seed and Sam.

I pulled away, stroking him to buy myself a second to swallow the riot in my mouth. My voice was gravelly when I spoke. “I’m sorry my mouth is so wet.”

His hips bucked into my hand. “Let it be wet. Let it be messy.”

So I did. I lifted his cock, dropped onto it again. Let the fullness of my mouth spill over, drip down his shaft, let him watch.

I’d never felt so beautiful, so desirable. I’d never felt so wanted as I did when I watched Sam watching me.

His cock swelled. I took him deep, and it pulsed. Bigger it grew, impossibly, until I could barely hold him. He was close, I realized. And my enthusiasm sparked, my excitement, the build of his orgasm fanning the flame of something inside me. My body rolled like a figure eight, ass and hips, shoulders and neck, mouth open, head bobbing, hand stroking his base, sliding down to cup the soft, cold sack, slipping back up to his dripping cock.

“I’m close.” He fought to speak. “You don’t”—he moaned—“have to swallow.”

My neck worked, keeping pace, going as deep as I could without gagging, already knowing exactly what I’d do when the time came.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he groaned as he fucked my mouth. “You’re perfect. You don’t need me, Val. You’re fucking perfect.”

My eyes watered from the act, from his words. His hands twisted in my hair, moved it from my face, cupped the back of my head, gripped my hair again.

A hot throb. A massive pulse.

He exploded in my mouth with a grunt that made my core flex, pumped into me as I closed the back of my throat and sucked in air through my nose so I wouldn’t drown. And all I could do was watch him. Watch the wave of his body as he slammed into my mouth with all the control he could muster, I imagined. The pinch of his brow. The crescents of black lashes on his cheeks. His lips, parted and stretched into an O of ecstasy. The sharp line of his jaw when his face tilted up to the ceiling.

He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

When he was finally spent and empty, I sucked all the way to the top and closed my lips, my mouth full. His eyes were barely open, but he looked at me, shifted to reach for me. And I swallowed once, twice to finish the job. Pleasure passed across his face at the sight, and those hands cupped my cheeks, pulled me on top of him, kissed me desperately, hard and hot. His tongue dove into my mouth to taste himself in the depths.

And I had the undeniable, intoxicating feeling that I’d passed the lesson with flying colors.