His fingers tighten around his cock, pinching the top. “I’m counting on it.”
I bite my lip, imagining the length of him covered in blue lipstick. Suddenly, I can’t wait to paint him. I can’t wait to color his dick with my lips.
I turn around and walk to him in a daze. When I reach him, I kneel between his spread thighs.
The very first thing that hits me right in the gut is his scent. His musk is stronger than his blueberry pie smell and I lick my lips again as I watch his hand go up and down over his length.
“You like lollipops, Blue?”
“Yes.”
I keep watching his cock. It’s like a rod, hard and heavy, rounded at the top. Big, like everything else about him. Thick enough that I know there might be some discomfort when I put him in my mouth. I’ll have to watch for my teeth, make sure not to cut him. He’s going to be bumping against them, even against the roof of my mouth.
Like yesterday, the pre-cum is leaking down, making it sticky, making his hand sticky too. And I want to taste that stickiness badly.
So badly that I decide that I’ll do anything, anything at all to suck him off.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asks.
I look at his face, finally. He’s breathing hard, through his mouth, his eyes drugged up, stoned, and I know he’s dying for this as much as me.
We’re both dying and my lips on his dick is the only way to keep us alive.
“You. You’re my favorite flavor,” I whisper, and he groans, throwing his head back, bumping it against the wall.
I splay open my hands on his thighs and, opening my mouth, I kiss the crown of his shaft.
And just like that, his hand falls away and he makes it into a fist, punching his knee. “Fuck.”
That first kiss is all it takes.
For me to get addicted to it. Addicted to him and his taste. For my breasts to get heavy and my nipples to get hard.
I open my mouth then, and suck on it.
And again, that very first suck is all it takes for me to get so attuned to him that every little hitch in his breath as I move my tongue around, discover the roundedness, the sponginess of his head, resonates in my core.
“Fuck, Blue,” Zach moans and buries his fingers in my hair.
Those sticky, sticky, covered-in-his-lust fingers.
I don’t know why that arouses me so much that I feel my own juice pulsing out of me, seeping into my panties. But it does.
I move one hand from his thigh and grip the base of his dick, rubbing my thumb over the vein that runs on the underside of it. I decide to look for it later, when I’m done smearing my lipstick and eating him up like he ate me out against that truck.
For now, I’m going to rub my lips all over that trunk of flesh and paint him blue.
I go up and down, my breasts bouncing, my knees grinding on the tiled floor of the bathroom as I smear my lipstick over the most intimate skin of his. I lash my tongue over the pin-prick hole from which his cum leaks out.
Panting, I ask him. “How does it look?”
At my question, he opens his eyes and his abs flex. He looks at his cock – it’s smudged with blue – and then, at me. “Fucking perfect.”
Smiling, I lick up that vein I’ve been thinking about and his hips jerk.
God, his cock is a miracle, I swear.
Thick and long and sturdy, and I need to get back to it. So I do.