She hops up onto the kitchen island, swinging her legs and banging bare feet against the base.
“Want some?” She proffers a large spoon loaded with ice cream to me.
I definitely want some. I stalk over to her, insinuating myself between her knees and leaning forward, my mouth open and waiting. I can tell the moment she realizes it isn’t ice cream I really want. Her eyes go smoky and her pink tongue swipes over the fullness of her lips. She takes the large spoonful into her mouth instead. I lean into her, my palms pressed into the island surface and my arms bracketing her slim body. She brushes our noses together once, twice before opening my lips in a frozen kiss that shivers through my whole body. Her icy tongue plumbs the recesses of my mouth, brushing the back of my throat in chilly strokes. She cups my chin and holds me still to control the tempo of our tongues twisting together. When we finally pull away, harsh, frosted breaths gust the air between our lips.
She slides off the counter and maneuvers me slowly until my back is against the island. Without ever looking away, she scoops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and drops to her knees. She holds the ice cream in her mouth while she deftly unzips the jeans hanging low on my hips, already unbuttoned at the waist. The pants drop and collect around my ankles.
Please let this be happening.
She touches my hips under the briefs, coaxing the underwear down my legs, too. With no preliminary, she stretches her mouth to take my dick between her lips, rolling her cold tongue around the throbbing head.
“Oh, dammit, dammit, dammit, Bris.” I clench my fingers in her wild hair.
The wintry mix of her tongue taking me in rough strokes and the smooth sides of her throat clamping around my dick push me to the edge. Brows knit, eyes press closed, her blissful groan vibrates around me. She clutches my ass with one hand and takes my balls, heavy and tight, into her other hand, caressing them.
“I’m gonna come,” I rasp in case she doesn’t swallow. A lot of girls don’t. Groupies tend to swallow because they want to leave an impression. They’ll do whatever they think you want to get another night with you. I only want Bristol to do what she wants to do. She doesn’t have to perform. I’m hers already, and I want her to enjoy everything we do as much as I do.
Because I’m enjoying the fuck out of this blow job.
Never pulling back, she reaches up and finds the quart of ice cream again. She pauses only to load her mouth with another scoopful of the frigid creaminess before she possesses me again, her head bobbing at a deliberate pace between my legs. It’s apparent to me that Bristol will, like she does all things, finish what she starts, but I’ll have to watch her swallow me down to the last drop some other time. I want to be inside her again. Now.
With gentle fingers, I tug on her chin until her mouth drops open. She looks up at me from her spot on the floor. I reach down under her arms and raise her off her knees.
“Rain check.” I hoist her onto the kitchen island and yank the underwear down her legs. I lay her back flat and lift the heels of her feet to the marble surface, leaving her knees up and her legs wide open.
“Hold on, baby.” I push into her, and we groan when the cold from the ice cream melts into her wet heat. I pound into her so hard she has to latch onto the counter to keep from sliding away. I break rhythm to check her face for pain or discomfort.
“Don’t you fucking stop,” she moans, her neck exposed, back arching, pushing her breasts up under the thick cotton of her sweat- shirt. I shove the material over her torso, scrunching it at her shoulders and below her neck so I can watch her breasts bounce with every thrust. I bend to take one in my mouth.
“Take it,” she pants. "Baby, take it.”
The exquisite slide of flesh against flesh is like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I realize I’m in her with no rubber.
“Bris, I’m in raw.” I grit the words out because I want to stay right where I am, flesh on flesh. “I need to pull out.”
“No, you don’t.” She pants, her nails digging into my ass. “I’m clean, and I’m covered. You?”
“Yeah,” I answer unhesitatingly. “I’m clean. So we can . . .”
She nods frantically, shifting her hips forward on the counter to change the angle, to deepen penetration. She wants deeper?
I pull her legs straight up on my chest until her feet rest at my shoulders, leaving me nothing but ass and pussy. I slam into her at a bruising pace, hoping I’m not hurting her, but unable to imagine stopping. It’s a primal mating—a feral rutting, and I’m the wild beast reduced to a clump of nerves and instincts.
“Grip.” Her hands climb her chest to touch her breasts, twisting her own nipples. Watching that, there’s no way I’m not coming, but her next words do the impossible. They stop me.
“I love you.” Tears slip from the corners of her closed eyes. “Oh, God, I love you so much.”
My breaths are choppy, my heart seizing in my chest. “What’d you say?”
Her eyes pop open, briefly touching on my face before fixing to the ceiling.
“Um . . .”
I pull her up so her legs fall alongside my hips, our bodies still joined at the center, but her chest pressed into mine.
“Did you mean it?” I demand, cupping her butt.
“Grip, I—”