“I love it. It’s been so long since I’ve read for fun.”
“I figured as much. You have to be a reader to be a writer.”
“I don’t want to be a writer,” She tucks the book jacket into the book to hold her place. “I want to do stem cell research and cure cancer.”
“I know you do, but when you write up your research for publication, it has to be good.”
“No it doesn’t. I have a boyfriend who specializes in writing. Maybe I can persuade him to help me put passion on the page.” She turns over so she faces the aching hard-on I’ve ignored for hours.
“Is that right? And how will you persuade this boyfriend of yours to write your paper?”
She pulls and tugs at my pants until my dick pops free. “I’ll explain to him that not everyone can be good at everything.” She wraps her lips around the head, and licks up the glistening drop seeping from my slit.
“Oh, God, you’re very good at pleading your case, but your boyfriend believes there are some things you have to own yourself and publishing your work is one of them.”
She lowers her head pulling my cock to the back of her throat. The woman has zero gag reflex, and that makes this experience one of my favorites. I’m too thick for her to completely engulf, but when she nearly swallows my cock, I might as well be balls deep in her mouth.
She pulls back and lets me pop free. Her saliva glistens around my dick. “You want me to own my words like I own your cock?”
To a lesser man her statement would have been offensive, but Kat does own me — every piece of me from my cock to my heart. “Yes, love. I want you to own it.”
She looks up at me through the fringe of her bangs and smiles around my dick. It’s a look that says watch-me-own-you, and she does with every lick and swirl and suck. My thighs shake, and I can’t stop my toes from curling when she presses me into her throat and caresses my balls until I spill into her mouth. Kat is greedy. She doesn’t let me go until every drop is gone, and she’s had her fill.
Epilogue
Katy - Three Months Later
I slam the book closed and say, “Done!” triumphantly. We are at our home, the one he moved me into after he gave me an F on my paper. We both are in the living room where he now grades papers. I’ve been curled up on the sofa, reading, just keeping him company while he pushes through at least a hundred assignments.
“How did you like the book?” He sets the paper he’s recently graded on the table next to him and runs his fingers through my hair.
“It was amazing. I would have finished it weeks ago if my English professor wasn’t so damn demanding.”
“Is that right?” His fingers trace down the edge of my jaw and brush against my lips.
I dart my tongue out to lick his finger. “Yes, he actually expects me to write a paper every few weeks and pass.”
His fingers fall to my chest where they skirt the edge of my shirt. “Imagine that. He wants you to be successful. I hate him already.”
He shifts his body so I’m no longer lying in his lap, but he’s lying by my side.
“I could never hate him. I love him. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I love you too, Kat.” He gives me a gentle kiss. Warm lips that linger against mine like he’s savoring the moment. “Will you still love me if I fail you?”
My mouth drops open and my heart halts a beat. “Shit, Hugh, did I fail?”
He gives me his serious professor expression. The one he shows when he’s passing out poor grades or rough assignments.
“No, love, you squeaked by.” He reaches ab
ove his head for the paper he left on the table and he holds it in front of my face. In big green lettering there’s a B-. “I wanted to give you an A, but you know me.”
I snuggle into his chest and hug him tight. “I know. I have to own it.”
“You do. You own it all, Kat. You own the grade, and me, and now I have to own something myself.”
He slides from the couch to kneel on the floor. He pulls a pen from his pocket and opens the book I’ve been reading called Forever Girl by Fletch Hughson. He inscribes something on the front page.