He’d thought of himself as a dead man walking. The sudden surge of sap flowing through his veins, fast and hot, both alarmed and confused him.
His head fell back and he groaned in mixed misery and pleasure as he stroked himself. He didn’t even bother to try to shove the illicit images and fantasies out of his brain this time. It was either fall into the dark abyss of meaninglessness or grab onto the one remnant of his humanity that remained intact in him.
He reveled in all that he shouldn’t, imagining what it would be like to bend Katie over at the waist and bare her ass, what it would be like to slide a finger into her warm, tight slit, to coat himself in her abundant juices . . . to push his cock into a pussy that’d squeeze every memory from his brain . . . every last drop of come from his boiling balls.
She could make him forget. He knew she could. If he got lost in Katie, the memory of how he’d disappointed Eden as a husband might fade, the sadness of losing her, even though he’d known deep down at that point their marriage was over.
Katie might be able to help ease the grief of knowing what died inside Eden’s womb along with her.
The fantasy was so realistic he felt himself cresting after only a couple dozen jerks on his supersensitive cock. He was panting and gritting his teeth, already at the vinegar strokes despite the fact that he’d practically just begun. In some distant part of his brain, he knew the explosion that was about to erupt out of his balls had been building since he’d seen Katie standing there so uncertainly in that hospital waiting room . . .
. . . maybe sooner.
He groaned gutturally as pleasure swelled in him.
“Rill? Is that you?”
His fist paused midstaff on a near-to-bursting cock. He opened his eyes and stared at the closed double Dutch door, breathing heavily.
“Rill?” he heard Katie ask, her voice closer to the pantry door now. He stood unmoving, every muscle in his body strung tight, his cock throbbing in his hand. Her voice had trembled slightly when she spoke his name. She must have heard him groaning.
She had to know what he was doing in there.
“Don’t open that door, Katie,” he warned.
He stood utterly still, his body straining, his mind hyperfocused, like a man with questionable balance who suddenly found himself poised on the high wire. His ears strained to make out Katie’s movements. The silence seemed to roar in his head.
His heart lurched in his chest when he saw the knob move on the lower half of the double Dutch door and the soft click of the latch slipping out of the catch.
“Don’t, Katie,” he demanded, but that wasn’t really what he meant. He wondered how she’d known that when the lower half of the Dutch door swung outward, the top half remaining closed.
He watched, his misery and sharp arousal rising, as Katie went to her knees.
He could see her full, shapely breasts pressed tight against an indigo tunic that she’d belted with a braid of leather. Her untamed mane of hair hung loose, curls and waves abounding. She’d said the color she’d put on it wasn’t permanent, and he was glad to see gold shining through the brown, the dye having faded further with her morning shower. He saw the lower half of her face—the delicate chin, the lush lips. She placed her hands on her thighs, the gesture striking him as prim . . . subservient for some stupid reason. Katie was hardly the submissive type.
Every ounce of his attention was focused on her mouth when it moved.
“Come here,” she said softly.
His cock lurched in his hand.
He staggered toward her, hating himself but recognizing the sheer impossibility of refusal. Besides, he was at the breaking point of arousal.
He came close, feet just an inch away from her knees. She didn’t move away, although she must be able to see him at this point. He placed one forearm against the top of the closed Dutch door, bracing himself. He leaned toward her.
Her lips parted.
He watched, spellbound, as he used his hand to brush the flaring tip of his cock against her lower lip. She remained immobile, allowing him to spread a thin coat of pre-come on her mouth.
His groan felt like it was ripped out of the depths of him.
Her tongue came out, pink and quick, wetting the head of his cock. An uncontrollable shiver of excitement rippled up his spine. Her lips enclosed the rim in a tight clamp while she licked eagerly, giving him the impression she wanted to press his taste deep into her, like she was doing a rubbing etching with her tongue to find patterns on his dick. Her carefulness, her obvious hunger—the sheer strength of her tongue—drove him nuts.
She sucked, and there was no other direction for him to go but forward in that volatile moment. The arm that braced him on the top of the double Dutch door bent at the elbow. He thrilled to the sensation of sliding against her wet tongue, of being surrounded by her sultry heat.
He’d been so primed before that it was almost too much for him to bear. He nearly shamed himself further and came on her tongue then and there. Only his greed for her, the desire to relish in the moment, helped him to hold back.
She pushed forward with her head. Several inches of his cock filled her mouth, but he knew the top part of the door stopped her from ducking forward too far. He stepped toward her, so that his feet bracketed her knees, and leaned into her, watching from above as his dick slid between pink lips. She moaned softly, and he clenched his eyes closed as the vibrations from her vocal cords buzzed into his flesh.