Hung

And he gives it to me. “Let go. Lean on me a little. No worries, honey.”

It’s rather obvious that I have worries, an entire tanker truck load of them, but I try to let it all go. His finger pushing back inside me again helps a whole lot with my attempt, because God bless the man, he finds my G-spot like he’s got his own personal map of my body with a big X marking all my favorite, dirty spots. I come so fast that I surprise myself, grinding hard against his mouth and moaning his name.

Yeah. I just did that. I grabbed a guy, dragged him into some kind of storage shed, and proceeded to use him as my own personal dildo. It sounds kind of bad when I think about it like that. Whatever else he is, Pick’s a decent guy, and he deserves more than being my police evasion tool. Like a matching his-and-her orgasm. He totally deserves that.

It takes me a moment to come down from cloud nine or wherever it is that Pick’s magic tongue has catapulted me to. I’m sort of hanging onto his head, alternating between patting it and pulling on it. Hopefully, I haven’t snatched him bald, but he’s certainly to blame. He made me see stars, and he made me lose control. Any resulting bald patch is just the price of entry.

And… he’s watching me. I mean, that’s better than having him stare at my post-orgasm cooter, but it’s a little unnerving. I’ve spent most of my time recently doing my best to hide in plain sight, and rule number one of hiding is don’t attract attention. I should say thank you. Or praise his mad oral skills. Something. Anything. Instead I blurt out one word.

“What?”

Awesome. I could have gone with that one. Or fantastic. Mind-blowing. Even without the thesaurus app on my phone, I have to be able to come up with a dozen more flattering words to hit him with. He doesn’t look offended, though. He just keeps on staring, although his hands drift lower, running over my inner thighs and making little shivers run up and down my back. It’s both relaxing and arousing at the same time, which explains why my eyes start drifting shut. After the monumental orgasm I’ve just had, a nap sounds perfect. I know I should move, should return the favor, but he’s reduced me to this boneless pile of limp.

“You don’t like being told what to do.” He slips the casual observation in, like he’s telling me something I don’t know.

I force my eyes open and attempt to multi-task, wriggling back enough to sit up and slam my shameless thighs shut. My inner hussy has been exposed enough for today, thank you very much.

“Why would I?” I’m sure he’s not a fan of order-taking, if we’re swapping secrets here, so why should I like it any more than he does?

He laughs, rocking back on his heels. Yes, I shoot a look at his crotch, trying to check out the goods. As far as I can tell, he’s abnormally blessed in the downtown department. Super shlong, packing, hung. “Sometimes, taking orders can be fun.”

I’m about to ask him for an example because I still have my doubts that he’s ever taken orders and enjoyed it, but the dinner bell rings outside and someone hollers my name. Real life is about to come a-knock-knocking on the door.

“I need to go.” Wham, bam, and thank you sir, but we’re done here. In reality, after hiding in plain sight for so long, I’m feeling a touch too exposed now that he’s been eye-to-hooha with me. A little strategic retreat is in order

“Gotcha.” He pushes to his feet, the masculine grace and raw power of that big body kicking my senses into overdrive again. Or maybe I’m just disappointed that I’m going to have to make do with appetizers and not the main course after all because so much for having sexcapades. “Looks like I have a date with dinner after all.”

“We’re not dating.” It’s hard to sound dignified and in control when he gives me a hand off the desk and stands me up. Plus, I’m still super wet from his attentions, and there’s an embarrassing noise I can’t and won’t place. At least I don’t have sperm running down my legs, right? I try to lunge for the door, but my panties are still down around my thighs, and the sudden movement throws me off balance. Rather than face plant, I catch myself on his shoulders before I even realize what I’m doing. I’m grace incarnate and so not-sexy. Oh well, right? He adjusts my panties matter-of-factly, but then he squeezes my ass gently and points me toward the door. I think…