I groan at his choice of words. “You have no idea.” A tiny sliver of insecurity kicks in. “Is this okay?”
Émile answers me by grabbing my hand and wrapping it around his cock. “I’m obsessed. All night you’ve been this sweet, sexy man who’s needed rescuing, and now you’re completely owning me. You’re fucking with my head, and I’ve never loved anything more.”
I huff a laugh, kissing a line from his jaw to his ear, and I tighten my grip around him. “I promise that once I suck you down the back of my throat, you’re going to be eating your words.”
“I’d rather eat your ass, if I’m perfectly honest.”
And that’s one of the great things about him. He is. Honest. Always. His lips brush my neck before landing on my collarbone and it melts me. That spot. Massive weakness.
“Who says you can’t do both?” I ask.
A strangled moan builds in Émile’s chest as I drop to my knees. The water immediately cascades down over my hair and he fumbles for the showerhead to angle it away.
“Thanks.”
“Least I can do.”
I snort. “I’m sure you’ll be doing a lot more than that later.”
“You can bet on it.”
This time it’s my turn to smirk as I lean in and drag my tongue from his balls, all the way up to the tip of his cock. His dick jumps at the contact so I do it again, and again. Each time listening for the hitches in breath, the twitches in his limbs, and the way he shifts as though trying to get his cock closer to me.
I’ve always loved giving head. Teasing it out, gagging until I can hardly breathe, watching the man I’m with lose his damn mind, but when my gaze flicks up to see Émile’s heavy-lidded stare locked on me, I realize it’s never been like this. Because seeing a man as confident and put together as Émile slowly starting to unravel is addictive.
Goddamn, I hope he meant what he said about staying the night, because a quickie in the shower isn’t going to cut it.
Without warning, I dive on his cock. He’s long and thin, with a dark red mushroom head that immediately hits the back of my throat. I relax and suck him down, swallowing around him, and I’m rewarded for my efforts when his fingers dive into my hair.
“Urg, you’re going to kill me,” he gasps out, as I draw back enough for air before swallowing him down again.
There’s nothing like the feel of my lips stretched around a cock, the weight of it on my tongue, my chin hitting his balls as his thighs bunch and flex under my grip. The tighter he clenches my hair, the harder my cock gets, until I have to pull right off him and tug on my balls to get myself away from the edge.
“Look how swollen your lips are.” His exhale is heavy with lust. “You look so fucking good on your knees.”
The praise pools in my belly, and I can’t resist giving myself a firm stroke. “Wanna see me on my knees with your cum all over my face?”
Émile curses and guides my mouth back to his cock. This time he doesn’t try to hold still, doesn’t let me take control. He fucks my face unapologetically, and the way he’s taken over has me spinning.
My cock isthrobbing, eyes rolling back in my skull as I gag my way through the filthiest blowjob I’ve ever given. His cock is sliding into my throat over and over, cutting off a good amount of oxygen. The world is disconnecting from my consciousness, and all I’m aware of is the burning beneath my skin, my hand flying madly over my cock, and the pinpricks of pain in my scalp from his grip on my hair.
Émile’s rhythm hitches, becomes erratic, and my free hand flies to his balls.
“Oh, shit.” He grunts, and his cock jumps in my mouth, releasing the first salty spurt.
I hurry to pull off him, and Émile wraps his long fingers around his shaft, the other hand holding my head in place.
I open my mouth just in time. His cum paints my face, my neck, my tongue. And the sight of him towering over me, covering me in his release, has my balls drawing up. My handmoves faster, the tingles at the base of my spine take over, and I shoot my load onto the shower floor.
Sheer relief crashes into me, and when my limbs stop shaking their way through my orgasm, I look back up at Émile.
The dark, hungry gaze has softened. He’s panting. Hair askew. His grip on me loosens as he shifts his hand to drag his thumb through the mess on my cheek.
“I can’t get over how sexy you look right now.”
All I can do is nod. Brain pooling in post-orgasm bliss. Wishing I could tell him that was maybe the single hottest moment of my life, but there’s a good chance that’s the orgasm talking anyway.
Émile yanks me to my feet before turning the water back toward us. It feels hotter than before, but then, I can barely catch my breath.