Letting the breath I’m holding go, I drag my hand through my hair when her tongue swirls around me. “Fuck, you look so good.”
She carries on teasing me, touching everywhere but the tip that’s throbbing and glistening with precum. I know she’s going to keep going until I’m at the point where I’m ready to fucking beg her.
I’m ready to beg now.
One final look at my tortured expression and she smiles, looking genuinely pleased with herself, and I’m ready to fuck the smugness off her face.
She slowly—and I mean slowly—lowers her mouth onto me, and I can’t help but lift my hips to speed up the process. A satisfiedmhmmvibrates against my dick, and she hollows out her cheeks and tries to suck the soul from my body.
Holy fucking shit.
Scooping her hair, I wrap it around my fist in a makeshift ponytail, holding it tight, moving with the controlled motion of her head as she bobs up and down.
Her nails scrape down the inside of my thigh, causing me to flinch forward, hitting the back of her throat. For a split second I worry it might be too much for her, until her watery eyes watch me through thick, dark lashes, and even when she’s noisily gagging on my dick, she looks smug. So I keep thrusting, deep and precise, as she hums happily, meeting every movement perfectly.
Don’t tell her you love her during a blow job, you fucking loser.
My entire body trembles. “Baby, I’m going to come.”
Her moan of approval sends a jolt through my body and she speeds up, sloppy, crazed movements, until an intense fire ignites in my blood, disintegrating my entire body.
“Fuckkkkk,” is the only word left in my vocabulary when I spill myself down her throat.
Dazed and slightly light-headed, I watch her sit up and clean up the corner of her mouth with her thumb, sucking it into her mouth. My stomach heaves as I struggle to come back down to earth. We have a lot of sex, but I’m always too desperate to be inside of her, but that…that was—
God. I might have to propose to her.
Tugging her body to mine, she lands on my chest with a squeak, before moving to my side with her leg draped across my stomach. I press my lips to her forehead, holding her close, then slap my hand down on her butt, eliciting another squeak.
“What was that for?”
“How many times did you ask ‘are we there yet?’ Hmm? Actions have consequences, Anastasia.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup,” I chirp, bringing my hand down again.
She maneuvers herself to be on her stomach and sticks her ass in the air a little, the shape of my hand glowing lightly. Her head twists to watch me, the same light pink flushing her cheeks. “Are we there yet, Nathan?”
* * *
One of thosenice things about having the house to ourselves is being able to walk around naked.
I leave Anastasia sleeping peacefully in my bed, while I search the fridge for something to feed us. Taking an orange juice carton, I stand at the floor-to-ceiling kitchen window, overlooking the now-frozen lake at the back of the house.
The white goes for miles, bright and untouched, making it unclear where the lake ends, and the ground starts. I know, though; I know out there like the back of my hand. I’ve spent enough time on it, in it, around it over the years.
A warm body wraps around mine from behind, lips pressing in the center of my back affectionately. She steps around me, taking the juice carton and bringing it to her lips, leaning against my body while we both stare out.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
“You’re cheesy.”
“Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”
THIRTY-SEVEN | ANASTASIA