Because I can’t resist the way he “asks”—any more than I can resist the way he looks at me—I give in, widening my circles until I’m licking halfway down his shaft. As I do, I make sure to pay attention to the sensitive area at the bottom of the tip, spiking my tongue and flicking against the spot again and again and again.
“Fuck, Emerson.” Hunter’s fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place as he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into my mouth. “Baby, please…it’s been so long…I need…I need—” His voice, already low and gravelly and so, so sexy, breaks on a groan as he pulls me into him at the same time he slams his hips forward.
The movement catches me by surprise, but he feels so good and I’m so turned on that it only makes me hotter. Stretching my jaw wide, I take him deep. Take him all the way to the back of my throat and still that isn’t enough. Still there’s more of him.
I’ve never done this before, never opened myself up to a guy like this before. Never let him use my mouth—use me—the way I’m letting Hunter. But then I’ve never understood how powerful surrendering could make me, never understood that in yielding to him I get at least as much as I give. Maybe more.
Because even as tears spring to my eyes, even as I struggle to breathe, I realize this mid-fall afternoon fuck isn’t just about him. About what he needs. It’s about me, too. Because the more he takes, the more I want to give him.
Considering the fact that I might never see him again, it’s a terrifying thought. Terrifying, and so, so arousing.
My nipples peak.
My breath comes faster and faster.
My sex throbs.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Hunter groans, and it’s the first time the endearment doesn’t get to
me. Then again, with his hands tugging me back instead of pulling me forward, I have more to concentrate on than any pet name he uses for me. “That’s so good. That’s so—”
I moan then, and the vibrations have him breaking off, have his hips thrusting forward fast and hard. Suddenly I’m taking all of him, his whole cock in my throat. My nose buried against his skin.
It’s a lot—he’s a lot. Almost too much, really. But I want this for him, want it for myself, so I concentrate on breathing through my nose. On relaxing my jaw. On tamping down my instinctive need to panic at the dominance of his position.
On one hand, it isn’t easy—I’m a control freak who doesn’t believe in giving a man control of anything having to do with me—and my heart is beating fast, my skin prickling with awareness, my body half-frightened, half-enthralled by the sensation of yielding control to him. But on the other hand, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Giving myself over to Hunter, taking what he gives me in return. It’s been a long time—maybe never—since anything I’ve done felt this right.
Because the knowledge scares me, I shove it away. Ignore it. Concentrate instead on giving him as much pleasure as I can.
Lifting my hands to his hips, I tug his jeans down a little more. I want to touch the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, to hold his balls in my hands. To scratch my nails down his ass, his hips, the backs of his thighs. I want to experiment, to figure out what turns him on.
I want to make him feel as much as he’s made me feel ever since he kissed me yesterday.
With that goal in mind, I slip a hand between his thighs. Brush my fingers over his testicles and then move back, behind them, to rub softly at his taint. Hunter stiffens, his fists going lax, and I pull off him slowly, savoring the way his breathing has grown harsh. The way his body is suddenly mine to command.
I spend a minute sucking at just the tip of his cock, my tongue sliding over and around the slit as his breathing turns labored. Then I turn my head, rest my cheek against his hip and press soft, sweet kisses to his abdomen. His navel. His V-line.
God. His body truly is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Everything about it—everything about him—appeals to me. I’ve just come and I’m already on the brink again, just from touching him. Just from feeling, seei
ng, tasting what my touch does to him.
I feel him relax slowly under my ministrations, his legs opening just a little bit wider in order to give me better access. As he does, his cock brushes against my cheek and I reward his gradual surrender by licking my way from his tip to his base and then back again.
My name shatters on his lips, the pieces of it hanging in the air around us like magic as I begin a slow, steady stroking of his taint that has sweat rolling down his abdomen and broken curses falling from his lips.
I love the sound of them, of him—breath catching in his chest, growl emanating from his throat, words breaking on his lips. All dark and deep and dangerous, so raspy it’s almost impossible to understand the words he’s growling.
It’s enough to have heat shimmering through me, my sex clenching emptily.
“Emerson, sweetheart, please—”
The way he calls my name, all needy and desperate, does it for me like few things ever have. As a reward—and because, suddenly, I’m as anxious as he obviously is—I swallow him down, sucking so hard that my cheeks hollow out and my throat aches.
Again and again I take him, relishing the broken sounds he makes at each pull of my mouth. Relishing the urgent grip of his hands in my hair and the desperate way his hips move against me. He’s lost his rhythm now, lost the smooth, sexual confidence that is such a part of him. Now he’s all about sensation, all about need, all about pleasure and the desperate, burning drive for release.
As am I. I can feel the sting of his nails scraping against my scalp, the ache of the hard ground beneath my knees, the burn of his cock stretching out my throat. I’ve never had any desire to mix pain with pleasure before, but this moment—on my knees in front of Hunter as he uses me, as he thrusts into my mouth again and again and again and takes what he wants—is, by far, the most erotic experience of my life.
And I’m nowhere near ready for it to end, even though I’m nearly as strung out on sexual pleasure as he was.