The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

Effort is incredibly sexy to begin with.

We are both still wearing bottoms, the jeans I had on for the game are unbuttoned yet remaining, and Jack is wearing athletic pants. My fingers go to the drawstring waistband, and I untie them, sliding my hand inside and over the thin cotton fabric of his boxer briefs. They feel like compression shorts, hugging his ass and thighs—I wouldn’t hate it if he got up and stretched it around the room to give me a better view.

I want to get him out of these pants.

I push them down at the waist, hoping he’ll assist me in getting them down around his hips. Undressing someone while lying down isn’t the easiest task, and help is always appreciated. Together, we work them down over his legs until he’s kicking them off and onto the floor.

“Well, well, well,” I say. “Isn’t this a pleasant turn of events?” Seems that it’s always the woman who gets naked first, and I appreciate the fact that I can admire him before taking my own pants off and getting naked. I feel like I deserve it for waiting seven years.

I give him a nudge so he’s lying on his back the same way I had just been and hover over him. When I lean forward, my hair dusts his chest before I close in and kiss the valley between his pec muscles. I give his nipples a lick—those are my favorite part of a man’s chest, odd enough.

I don’t actually have a plan but I find myself moving down his body, kissing my way down his sternum, belly, to his belly button. He has the most glorious happy trail that disappears into the waistband of his boxer briefs, and I want to discover where it leads.

I see his intake of breath when he clenches his stomach; it’s a move that fills me with boldness. It’s one that tells me I’m in control now.

I feel powerful and sexy, propelled to pull at the elastic band and stretch it, pull it down, down, his hard dick finally peeking out. I swear it’s bigger than I remember it, or maybe I’m just so horny and filled with lust that I’m not thinking clearly.

Dicks aren’t pretty, but I’m convinced this one is.

My mouth waters. I swear it does.

What is your problem, Penelope? Dicks are not cute, so stop staring at this one.

But it is.

It’s hard and perfect, and when I touch my lips to the tip, Jack and I both groan out loud, his louder than mine, but still.

We groan, his hands finding my long hair and burying themselves inside, fingers gathering up piles into a ponytail.

I literally haven’t given a man a blow job since Jack; in fact, he is the first and last man who’s dick I’ve ever sucked, the few people I’ve dated in the interim either weren’t into it or did not care about receiving oral.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried I’m doing it wrong or that I feel rusty because I’ve been out of practice for so long. Still, I feel like it’s somewhat instinctual, and enthusiasm counts, so I lower my head until he’s inside my throat. Sucking, I decide to have fun with it.

Fun?

Not something I normally associate with a blow job, but here we are.

I visualize the pornos I’ve watched in the past; the technique the women used, the way they bobbed their heads, the spot they put their hands. I remember reading something in a magazine once about paying attention to the balls and not neglecting them, so I move a hand from his shaft and place it beneath him.

Jack groans again. One arm was now thrown over his eyes, the other still in my hair holding it back.

I suck. Move my hands up and down.

Honestly, it’s wet and messy, and I gag a few times—not that he’s bothered by the fact. It seems to make it hotter. Sexier. Watch me gag later when I brush my teeth, ugh, like that wouldn’t be embarrassing.

Jack is not fazed by any of this. In fact, he seems to like it.

“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he finally groans, giving my shoulders a tug the same way I had when he’d been going down on me.

“Why? I want you to.”

“I don’t want to come in your mouth, or on your face, or in my own hand. I want to come inside you.”

Oh.

Oh…

“Get on top, Penelope.”

Should I?

Can I?

It’s been so long. What if I forget what I’m doing, and instead of moaning or shouting his name, I start...barking?

Ha!

Still on the bed with my jeans on, I have those to remove before we can think about getting busy, our excitement and urgency making the whole thing that much more fervent.

I lift my head, wiping the drool from my mouth, glancing down one last time at Jack’s gorgeous, thick cock, and go to work unbuttoning my pants so we can get them onto the floor along with all the other discarded clothes.