What was she allowing to happen?
The dark, plum-shaped crest touched her lips as they parted. The heavy veins that wrapped around the thick shaft pulsed and pounded beneath her grip.
“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, his voice tight, rough. “Part those pretty lips for me.”
Her first taste of him was a shock to her senses. She could taste herself, a delicate, feminine taste she hadn’t expected. Beneath it was a darker, male taste. Like a coming storm edging over the mountains.
Then he was filling her mouth, the clench and throb of his flesh pulsing against her tongue as she let it rub against the underside, just beneath the head.
The moan that slipped past her lips shocked her.
The hunger that rose inside her wiped away her hesitation.
This she had read about. She had watched it. It seemed a bit more familiar than what he had done to her.
She tightened her lips around the wide crest as he pressed deeper, filling her mouth with him, his hips flexing, thrusting in shallow strokes as she began to suck.
“Ah, baby, your mouth,” he groaned, the heavy lust and pleasure filling his voice and sending shocking waves of pleasure racing through Lyrica. “It’s so damned good . . .”
He wasn’t touching her. Just his pleasure, his verbalization of it, and she could feel the rising chaos threatening to overtake her again.
“Use both hands.” His voice was thicker, heavier. “Stroke the shaft for me, Lyrica. Stroke it while your hot little mouth makes me crazy.”
Dazed, growing higher by the second on the knowledge that she could make him so hard, so desperate, Lyrica tightened her mouth on him. Drawing on the flesh filling her mouth, stretching her lips, a moan escaped her throat, vibrated against the heated width of his erection, and had his hand tightening in the hair at the side of her head.
“Lyrica, sweetheart . . .” The pace of his thrusts changed, lengthening, quickening as her fingers stroked around the heated flesh of his shaft.
The heavy throb of his erection against her tongue increased as the salty male taste of pre-cum spilled on her tongue.
She was dying for him.
Whimpering in desperation, her hips rocking against the seat of the chair, thighs clenching at the burning heat in her clit, Lyrica knew she was becoming lost in the pleasure again. First in hers, now in his.
She was fighting a losing battle.
“That’s it. Ah hell, Lyrica. That’s it, baby, suck my cock, sweetheart. Rub your tongue right there . . .” His voice thickened. “Ah hell, it’s better than every dream I’ve had of fucking your pretty mouth. Every fantasy.”
She cried out, the sound lost in his heavy groan as his thrusts increased, the thick flesh driving nearly to her throat, pulsing and throbbing . . .
“That’s it,” he groaned again. “Fuck. Baby. I won’t last much longer. Look at me, Lyrica.”
Forcing her eyes open, she stared into the savage expression above her. His eyes were even more golden than before, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, the short, bad-boy length of his beard and mustache shadowing a strong jaw and chin. Perspiration beaded his face, ran in a lazy rivulet down the side of his cheek.
“Pull back, Lyrica,” he demanded roughly. “Fuck. I’m going to fill that pretty mouth if you don’t pull back.”
Pull back?
She hadn’t come this far just to pull back.
Tightening her lips on him, sucking at him harder, deeper, another moan escaped her throat.
“Ah fuck. Hell. Lyrica. Damn you. Damn you, take it. Every fucking drop.”
A hard throb of his cock and the first heated jet of his release hit the back of her throat.
Both hands were in her hair, holding her head still as short, quick strokes sent another pulse of salty male cum to follow the first. Then he was groaning her name, burying himself deep enough she nearly choked as several more quick, hot pulses of sperm shot to her throat and sent a rush of pleasure to explode in her womb.
How was that?