“The real estate market in heaven must be fantastic.”
He groans a deep and masculine sound as daring gets the better of me, my tongue darting out to caress his ear. “I think that’s why it’s called ringing the Devil’s doorbell.”
“Wanna see if he’s home again?” He angles his head as though to slant his lips over mine.
“And make the little cherubs and angels cry?” I press my palm to his chest, keeping him in place even as a tantalising pulse begins to beat between my legs. Could I even withstand another orgasm like the last? But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“I’m pretty sure the angels, like the stars, are dirty voyeurs.”
I squeak as his hands slide down, hooking under my thighs to lift me. He begins walking backward towards the bed, his hands still full of my bum.
“So you’re saying they deserve to be made homeless?”
He pauses as though appearing to think before it becomes clear it’s just for effect. “What I’m saying is, let’s fuck.”
Oh, I’m good with that. I’m so good with that as he drops me to the bottom of the bed that I begin to yank at his belt, remembering how desperate I was to see him. But with a rasping laugh, he raises my fumbling hands.
“Oh, is this where I get to watch you take something off other than a tyre?” I push my hands under my thighs to stop me from clapping them.
“I have a better idea.” His gaze is all pupil and wicked plans as he brings my hand to his mouth, and I gasp as he flicks my forefinger up, sucking it into his mouth. “Let’s scandalise the heavens,” he murmurs, feeding the wet digit between my legs.
And then he straightens, and I do get my show as he begins to slowly unbuckle his belt. The action is almost hypnotic, and I find I’m holding my breath as he releases himself from his zipper. Judging by his amused expression, I think my eyeballs might have fallen out of my head, cartoon style. I only hope I didn’t make the usual accompanying sound which, from memory, is the honk of a hooter.
I’ve never found dicks to be beautiful. Necessary sometimes, more so than the bigger dick they come attached to. But this is different because not only is he gorgeous but this is also a thing of beauty as he begins to jack himself.
The muscles of his right arm tense and bunch in the dim light, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, twisting as he reaches the sensitive head.
“You’re not joining in.” Not a question but maybe a pointed observation, but not even two amazing orgasms makes me feel that kind of brave. Besides, I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate, not as I watch his abs tighten, not as I viscerally feel the rumble in his next breath. I suddenly want to hear him make that noise for me, because of me.
“I have a better idea,” I whisper, reaching for him. His body bows forward as I wrap my hand around the thick length of him, and he releases the sexiest sound.
Low, guttural, and filled with need.
“I like this idea.” He gasps as I explore his silky head, the heft, and length of him in my hands as I note his every reaction. The way his abs tauten under my fingertips, how his thighs tremble at the brush of my breath. The way his brows pull in as though suffering as I ghost my lips over him. Suffering in the best kind of way.
His body arches as I open my mouth, swallowing him, taking him to the back of my throat.
“So fucking good . . .” His words are a rumble of appreciation as I draw my lips back along his length. I glance up as he pulls my hair to one side and watch how he enjoys the sight of me sucking and lapping, of how I work him from tip to root. Or at least to where my hand grips him. His tight breaths and dirty whispers drive me on, my mouth working him sloppily, my moans vibrating around his flesh and joining his own. It takes me a moment to realise his hand is tightening in my hair, pulling me from him, dragging me to his mouth as he delivers the most punishing of kisses.
“You wanted to make me come.”
“Fair is only fair.” My voice sounds hoarse, and I wonder if my eyes are as dark as his seem. “But I was just enjoying you.”
“Move up the bed.” He’s all command and action as he toes off his shoes and his shorts as I scramble backwards, but not before taking a moment to appreciate the very European lack of socks.
There’s nothing quite so off-putting as a naked man in socks, is there?