did. He put a hand on my head, his fingers gentle and tangling in my hair. He nudged his hips forward, pushing flannel-covered cock toward me, and I reached for him. I touched him through the soft fabric, stroking, and his instant sigh of pleasure shot desire straight between my legs.
“Put me in your mouth.”
He made it so easy for me to do what he wanted. I wanted that. I craved it. Having it made easy for me to not have to decide. I rewarded him with my acquiescence. He took away the responsibility, and I shivered with delicious, illicit joy. There is so much freedom in not having to choose.
I slid my fingers into the waistband of his pajama bottoms and slid them over his hips, then his thighs. Slowly, slowly I drew them down to his ankles. I let my fingers caress the sensitive backs of his knees. I studied his skin, the pattern of hair, darker than that on his head, the lovely thickness of his penis, standing at attention for me.
There are women who think getting on their knees for a man is demeaning. That putting a penis in their mouths is dirty, disgusting, a chore, a bother, something to suffer through, tolerate, an act to be borne instead of relished. In some cases I understand why they might find that to be true, but I pity them, nevertheless. They don’t understand how much power they can wield from their place at his feet. How much they can gain by giving him pleasure. I looked up, meaning to speak, and the look on his face stopped me.
He put a hand on my hair. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”
I don’t like the word beautiful. It’s used for vases, horses, houses and flowers as much as it is for humans. Beautiful is a flattering lie.
I shook my head a little. “Shhh.”
His fingers smoothed along the top of my head, then down my cheek. “You want me to say something different?”
“I want,” I said, and pressed my cheek to his thigh, “you to tell me to suck your cock.”
His hand twitched on my head, and he groaned a little at my words. “Elle…”
I smiled. I kissed his thigh, nuzzling the hair, softer on the inside and higher up. I brushed the soft weight of his testicles with my lips, earning another soft gasp from him. “Say it.”
“I want you to suck my cock.”
I took him in my mouth, an inch at a time, steadying myself by holding on to his thighs. His grunt was reward. The way he pushed forward into my waiting heat another. The way he whispered my name as he stroked my hair yet a third. I took him all the way in until my lips brushed his belly and then drew out again, pausing at the head of his penis to offer a bit more suction. Then down again, slowly, breathing through my nose and concentrating on discovering every ridge and line along his length.
I wanted this. The taste of him. The sound of his breath getting faster. The feeling of the muscles in his thighs trembling beneath my fingers as he pushed his hips and put himself down the back of my throat the way I’d put the shot of whiskey he’d bought me the first day we met. I wanted this because in doing this I could think only of this. Of cock, of balls, of thighs, belly, moans, thrusts, of the salty, slippery taste of semen on the back of my tongue as his pleasure mounted.
“Elle.” He murmured my name. “Elle, baby, stop. I’m going to come.”
I didn’t stop. I drew another moan from him as I used my tongue on the tender divot on the underside of his prick. I added my hand at the base, moving it along with my mouth so that he was never left without sensation. I used my other hand to cup his balls and stroke my thumb along them.
He pushed into me so hard it would have choked me had I not been gripping him so tight. I tasted him and his orgasm throbbed against my tongue. He gave a low cry. I took all he had and waited another moment or two until he’d finished, then pulled away from him with a last, gentle suck to end it.
I got to my feet. In my heels I could look directly into his eyes. He blinked, his hand finding my upper arm and holding it as though to keep himself from wobbling.
“Wow,” he said at last. His eyes cleared.
I wiped my lips with my thumb. “Can I get a drink of water?”
“Yeah, sure.” He pointed to the kitchen.
I walked across the living room and knew his gaze followed the sway of my hips. The water from his faucet was cold and quenched my thirst. It felt good on my cheeks, too, and on the back of my neck. When I turned from the sink, he was behind me.
“Thanks for the drink,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” He’d pulled his pants up, though they still slung low enough on his hips for me to see a hint of pubic hair.
“Well.” Mission accomplished. I’d managed to erase the conversation with my mother long enough to make it easier to put from my mind. Not to forget. That was likely impossible. But far enough to at least ignore. “I’ll be going.”
He snagged my arm as I tried to pass. “You’re leaving?”
I looked at his hand on my arm, then at his face. “I thought I would, yes.”
“Why?”
I smiled. “Because I’m done.”
Dan smiled, too, this time with a bit of a harder edge. The way he’d looked the last time I tried to leave. “What if I’m not?”
I gave a pointed glance to the front of his bottoms. “I think you are.”
He smoothed his hand over my hip. “I don’t think you are.”
I tilted my head. “I didn’t come here for that.”
“You didn’t come at all,” he said, inching me closer.
“If I don’t care, why should you?” I let him pull me next to him. His hands massaged my lace-covered ass.
“Elle, did you come over here just to suck me off and leave?”
“Yes.”
He paused in stroking my butt to peer into my eyes. “Really?”
I nodded.
He looked surprised, and I took the opportunity to step away from him and head for my coat.
“Elle, wait.”
I turned, one arm already in the sleeve.
He caught up to me. “I don’t want you to leave. Stay here with me for a while.”
“I’m not exactly dressed to play Parcheesi.” I slipped the coat on the rest of the way and started on the zipper.
“You’re really leaving.”
“I’m really leaving, Dan.”
“No.”
I turned to look at him. “Most guys would love it if a scantily clad woman came over in the middle of the night, gave them a tremendous blow job and left without expecting anything.”
