Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(34)
I gasp out a breath as I try to manage a flirtatious smile. “You said blue looked good on me.”
“It does.” He kisses me hard. “You really want to blow me, gorgeous?”
I rake my nails down his stomach. “Show me how you like it.”
He pulls down his jeans and black boxer-briefs, freeing his cock. It looks even bigger than I remember, framed by neat, dark hair, the tip reddened and covered in pre-come. I lick my lips, which wrestles a groan from his chest; he pulls me close, into another kiss, his hand palming my bottom.
“Take off my panties,” I whisper. “They’re ruined already.”
He drags them down my ass. “So needy,” he says. “Does the thought of tasting me get you that hot and bothered?”
The words tumble from my lips as I take his cock in hand, giving it the sensual stroke that I remember from last time. “Want to drink your come.”
“Fuck.” He tugs on my hair until I slide down, so my face is right near his cock. “Explore a little, Red. Take your time.”
I mouth at the tip, shuddering as he scratches his nails over my scalp. Even the head feels big in my mouth, velvet-soft and tasting of salt. I lick away the pre-come, then move my tongue over the vein running down his cock. His hand tightens in my hair. “Good,” he says. “Keep going.”
I use my hand to steady the base as I move my mouth on him, alternating between kissing and licking. I flick my gaze upward; his eyes are half-shut, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallows. I accidentally get him with my teeth, and he jolts, but half a second later he’s back to moving against me.
“Use your lips more,” he murmurs as he pets my hair. “If you want to suck me, take me into your mouth nice and slow. Breathe through your nose.”
I want that; I want to feel him in my throat. Even the thought has me pressing my thighs together, desperate for at least a little contact. The moment I get real friction, I know I’ll come. Our positions, his rough, quiet voice, the way he has my hair wrapped around his fist—it’s all coming together to bring me as close to the edge as I’ve ever come without direct contact.
I squeeze his balls gently; they’re tight and clearly aching because he groans. His hips jerk slightly, pushing the first inch of his cock into my mouth. I suck on it, relishing in the taste. He’s trembling with the effort of holding still, I realize with a jolt. He could easily push right into my mouth and make me take it, but he’s holding back, letting me set the pace. I reward him by taking another inch, and then another, sucking lightly as I breathe through my nose. I haven’t even taken him halfway yet and I feel him deeply.
“Red,” he says, his voice breaking. I bob my head, moving slightly as I suck. He can’t help but push into my mouth more, but I take it the way I’ve always imagined I would, the way I’ve fantasized about for years, the way I’ve practiced with my own toys. Before long, he’s cupping my jaw, murmuring that he’s close. I pull off, but not all the way; just enough that I taste his come on my tongue when he tips over the edge. I swallow it down, continuing to lick at him softly, closing my eyes for a long moment as I breathe. His hand continues to work through my hair.
Eventually, he pulls me up. Saliva covers my mouth and chin, but he kisses me anyway as he runs his hands down my breasts and belly, settling on my hips. When he pulls back, I feel shy suddenly, unable to meet his gaze. He tilts my chin up and presses a softer kiss to my lips.
“Was I good?” I ask. My voice breaks slightly. My whole body feels like a spark plug, ready to come alive.
“So fucking good,” he says. Warmth blooms in my chest at his words, but it heads straight between my legs when he spreads me, rubbing my clit until I cry out softly against his shoulder. I feel him press a kiss to my head as he works me over. The sensations are exquisite, but his words leave me so close I can hardly stand it. “Come for me, baby.”
I shake apart. If I thought I came hard when he went down on me, this is ten times more intense; stars burst at the edges of my vision as my cunt clenches almost painfully. I’m so sensitive I try to twist away from his touch, but he just switches to stroking my inner thigh instead. Slick coats my skin. I’m panting, and so is he; it feels like we’re in a sweat lodge instead of a barely warm truck cab.
It’s almost strange to look at him and see the evidence of what we did together. I can see the lingering hunger in his eyes. The still-rapid rise and fall of his chest. I can feel the burn of his beard on my mouth and jaw. I was expecting awkwardness, but I feel completely relaxed, and judging by the looseness of his body, he feels the same way.
I know this won’t lead anywhere real, but for a moment—half a second, really—I let myself pretend.
18
COOPER
I finish scrawling the last few sentences of my essay, close the blue booklet, and sit back in my chair. After a frantic hour spent writing about the gothic in Jane Eyre, I’m beat, and even though I have a million other things to focus on—like schoolwork and practice—I just want to think about Penny.
Again.
Does everyone think about their hookups this much? I’m not used to having a girl stick in my mind. We’ve been texting nonstop, which is almost weirder than knowing exactly who I’m going to for sex. She’s adorably chatty, sending me links to Buzzfeed quizzes she wants me to take and informing me of every time she pets a dog and telling me what’s happening in The Americans, which she’s watching with her roommate, Mia. I’d say that she’s working overtime to make sure we stay firmly on the “friends” side of this arrangement, if not for how she acts when we get in the same room. In the past week and a half, we’ve hooked up half a dozen times; memorably, I ate her out in an old basement-level classroom when we ran into each other after class, and she blew me again—while on her knees, looking like an angel in her white nightgown—when I came to her dorm last night.