I may have blacked out briefly.
If there was a God above, I was about to feel those boobs around my dick. Instead she leaned over and went after me with her mouth. I probably owed a lit candle in church or something, because I’d asked for a titty fuck and the man upstairs had raised me a blow job. The fervent Jesus fucking Christ I whispered probably didn’t cut it.
Then I lost the ability to think, because her lips were wrapped tight around my cock.
Painter seemed bigger during the daytime.
Going down on him was an impulse that came out of nowhere, but I’d never felt sexier—or more powerful—than I did the instant I first wrapped my lips around his hard length. He let out a moan that was half begging, half worship as I flicked the underside of his cock in what I hoped was an expert move. Based on the noises, I was doing just fine for a beginner. The one and only time Jess had convinced me to smoke pot, she’d ended up giving me a blow job lesson using a banana in London’s living room. She showed me how to lick a cock and suck it and even jack a guy off, but I got the munchies before we made it to deep-throating, so I’d eaten the banana.
Probably just as well, because that monster of Painter’s wouldn’t fit down my throat in a million years anyway.
I followed the flicking with a swirl of my tongue, running it around the ridge ringing his cockhead.
“Shit, Mel,” he murmured, reaching down to gather my hair in his hand. Turning my head to the side, I licked up and down his length, exploring the ridges and bumps of him with my fingers and tongue. Then I started working my way back up again, looking up to meet his gaze as I opened my mouth wide, wrapping my lips around him.
That was my first impression. He tasted salty, but not in a nasty way. Tightening my mouth, I started bobbing my head up and down, taking care not to graze him with my teeth. He was too big to go far, so I used one hand to grasp him firmly, pumping in time with my head.
“That’s fuckin’ unreal,” he said, and the words were strained, as if it caused him physical pain to speak. I liked this, I decided. I liked the sense of control it gave me, because no matter how big and tough he was, in this instant Painter was all mine.
My nipples tightened at the thought, and the desire I’d felt for him in the tub came roaring back. I could touch myself, I realized. Give myself exactly what I wanted while I sucked him off. The thought felt dirty, which should’ve put me off. Instead it turned me on even more. Reaching down with my free hand, I found the spot between my legs so hungry to be touched.
Wow . . . Oh, wow.
That was really nice. There must’ve been something about tasting him that enhanced my own sensations, because touching myself had never felt like this before. Pausing, I pulled back to lick him like an ice cream cone. His entire body trembled. Then his hand tightened in my hair, pushing me back down over his length.
Something changed then.
Up to that point, I’d been in control. Now both of his hands cupped my head and I realized he could do just about anything to me and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. It should’ve scared me. Instead my fingers worked faster, because I wanted him that much more.
“Mel, I want to come on your tits,” he muttered, tugging back on my hair. It took an instant to sink in, and then I was pulling free. That’s when he spotted my hand down between my legs. His eyes widened and he came with a gasp, come spurting out of his cock, spraying across my chest. Then he caught me under the armpits, dragging me up his body. An instant later his hand reached down between my legs from behind, plunging into my depths.
The world exploded.
I closed my eyes, sinking into the sensation as stars danced behind my eyelids. Holy crap. Who’da thunk blowing a guy could be this good?
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous when you come, Mel,” he said, his voice almost reverent as he ran his hands up and down my back. Sighing, I snuggled into his warmth, wishing he didn’t have to leave. We lay there quietly, and I didn’t know about him, but I figured so long as I didn’t actually see how late it was, I could pretend time wasn’t passing.
“Babe, I gotta go,” he whispered after not nearly long enough. I rubbed my nose against his shoulder, then gave it a little nip. He laughed. “What was that for?”
“That’s your punishment,” I said, pretending to glare at him. “You ruined my shower, you know. I was getting all cleaned up for this hot guy who was coming over.”
He laughed again. “Yeah, sorry about that. He’s not gonna make it, though. I ran him over with my bike. I bought breakfast—didn’t want it getting cold.”
That made me giggle.
“This sucks, but I really do have to go,” he said, kissing the top of my head. Giving him one last squeeze, I rolled to the side, watching as he sat up and pulled on his pants.
“Let me guess—you can’t say where you’re going?” I asked. Painter shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “And much as it sucks, it’s time to head out. It’s important.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling let down. He leaned down over me, giving me one last lingering kiss on the lips before running a finger down my nose.
“I’ll stay in touch this time,” he murmured. “Promise. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’m working and can’t risk it.”
“Let me guess . . . This isn’t doing something for the Reapers like painting that mural for the Armory? You know, I bet you could make good money with your painting. Those portraits at your place were really good, even if they weren’t finished.”