This. This is what I’ve fucking wanted. This is what I’ve been posing in front of my window with a stiffy and a disregard for pants all this time for.
It wasn’t the thrill of being seen, as it turns out. It wasn’t even the joy of brainwashing her pretty little head with my perfect fucking cock. It was knowing that someday, her mouth would me mine.
Her mouth…and more.
She sucks me off like she was born for it. Maybe she fucking was. I don’t know what the babe at the Bradford does when she’s not staring at my cock, but I know damn well what her mouth was made for.
Pleasure. Pure and simple.
I’m a handsome man, and she’s a fine-ass woman.
Simplest fucking dynamic in the world.
“God,” I moan, feeling the warmth of her throat clenching around my twelve-inch dick. “Your name, beautiful. Tell me your fucking name.”
She squeezes me out of her throat, a glistening rope of saliva and precum connecting my tip to her lips. It’s like now that we’ve finally come together, our bodies can’t bear to be apart for a single fucking moment.
“Quinn,” she tells me, and my cock fucking throbs in response.
The babe at the Bradford.
Quinn.
“Invite me in,” I command.
I run my thumb across her lower lip, separating my cock from her lips…for now. She sucks my thumb into her mouth instead, and I nearly cum all over her face then and there.
“Invite me in,” I say again. “I want to see what else this sexy fucking body of yours can do.”
Quinn
“I’ve been watching you,” Felix fucking Fitzgerald snarls against my lips.
I nearly laugh.
Felix fucking Fitzgerald has been watching me?
I’ve been watching him. His dumb action movies. A few of his dramas, even.
I even have tickets with a few of my girlfriends to see his Broadway play next month.
And apparently, I haven’t just been watching him professionally, either.
As he pushes me back onto my couch, that much becomes readily apparent once again.
The dick at the Birmingham.
I could recognize that bad boy with my eyes closed.
But if you would have told me that the dick at the Birmingham belonged to Felix fucking Fitzgerald…
Yeah, no. I would have laughed in your fucking face.
He moves over to me, stepping out of his jeans. He lost his shirt at some point in the make-out session that ensued in the time it took us to get to my living room from my front door.
His cock—his gorgeous, perfect dick—is clenched in his fist. It looks harder than ever, and it’s looking right at me.
I know what comes next.