Chapter 24 #2
Obviously, I do it again. I don’t take my gaze off him as I squish my hands under his arms and soap up his armpits before caressing the domed bulk of his shoulders in huge, opulent swirls.
Over his biceps I go, down taut forearms, before returning to his stomach.
Rivulets of water pour over soft skin and hard muscle.
I lather him up before running a fingertip down the trail of dark hair that leads straight to his beautiful cock.
He’s been watchful, quiet, so far, but as I finally wrap my fingers around his length and reach underneath to his tight, full sac with my other hand, he emits a low, unwilling groan that thrills me.
Nothing to see here. I’m just washing my master.
I let my hand roam up and down his length, careful to keep my touch as light and languorous as it’s been on the rest of his body.
And then I hold back a smirk and get to my knees in front of him.
My mouth is right in front of his cock. It’s so close I could stick out my tongue and lick up his slit. I can tell that’s exactly what he’s expecting me to do, because his entire body braces, tenses, in expectation.
Instead, I plaster an innocent look on my face as I reach for one rock-hard, gorgeous thigh, my fingers skating over hair-covered quads and hamstrings and adductors. Bloody hell, this guy is tense.
I’m going to make him blow so hard.
I busy myself with washing his leg, careful to keep my mouth exactly where it is and wondering just how long it will take Mr Sexy McMaster to cave.
‘Forget my leg. Suck me,’ he orders.
There it is.
Just like clockwork.
I look up at him and bat my eyelids. ‘Yes, sir,’ I say breathily.
The torrent of water has washed the suds off him, which is good, because I much prefer the taste of dick to the taste of Aesop.
I dart my tongue out and lick up his slit as I’ve been dying to do.
It cuts through his soaking flesh like a hot knife through butter, and there’s definitely pre-cum under all that water.
Delicious.
He groans as I lick him like a popsicle, his wetness allowing my mouth to move slickly over him.
I can’t keep my eyes on his face as I take more of him inside me because, you know, physical human limitations, but I do raise a hand and drag my nails down that glorious stomach and through the short curls at the base of his dick before wrapping my hand around his length.
I lever his dick upwards and give him a long lick up the ridged vein on its underside.
He brings his hands to my hair, smoothing it off my face before sliding over my ears and jaws so he can take control if he wants it.
The spray is hitting me in the face, but it’s all so wet and slippery and glorious that I’m in my element.
I’m like a pig in shit, basically, naked and soaking and on my knees for this man, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth, licking and sucking and even dragging my teeth lightly over his length.
And I’m so turned on. Every drop of water on my nipples is torture.
I’ve clenched my thighs together without realising it.
His balls feel full and fucking perfect as they sit heavily in the cradle of my hand.
‘Would you like it soft or hard, sir?’ I enquire, sliding him out of my mouth.
‘Hard,’ he manages. He’s looking down at me as if I’ve just discovered string theory. I suspect, much though it pains me, that the way I’m looking up at him is not dissimilar, because he is male beauty personified. I drink him in from this excellent viewpoint as greedily, as lasciviously, as I can.
‘Then fuck my mouth, sir,’ I say, the politeness of my request squarely at odds with the filth of my offer.
He studies me for a long moment, his innate sense of respect warring with the character he’s embodying and, I suspect, the inner beast he’s allowing out to play today. I nod to show him I’m serious, and he closes his eyes for a moment, then tightens his grip on my skull.
I take him in my mouth once again and suck hard, like he asked.
And then he’s pulling me in towards him, driving his dick further into my mouth, so far I have to employ herculean effort not to gag.
But God, the way he’s using me, fucking my mouth like this hole exists purely for his pleasure, like he’ll die without this hot, wet place I’m providing.
The best bit? He sounds like he’s dying, too.
The echoes of his primal moans and grunts fill the shower enclosure.
This guy is letting rip. Every vestige of control, of restraint has evaporated leaving only his blind need.
Whether it’s his need to gratify himself, or to forget, or to obliterate every last one of his demons, I don’t know.
But as I take it all, nose-breathing and gasping and sucking, my free hand clawing desperately at his arse, his thigh, I find my heart so happy that I’m the one he’s entrusted with the side of himself he hides from everyone else.
I give his firm, gorgeous arse one last smoosh and make my way to the cleft between his cheeks, sliding a finger down the wet valley until I find the place I want to breach.
The pace with which he’s fucking my mouth is fast and angry, and I can barely keep up, but God knows I’m trying valiantly.
I press my finger to his entrance and slip inside him up to my first knuckle.
His ensuing roar is majestic. His body is shaking with its need for release.
I take, and I suck, and I probe, and he goes perfectly still before convulsing, driving into me over and over with long, jerky movements and filling my mouth with his hot seed.
I work him at his pace until he’s spent and he extracts his dick gently before his hands leave the sides of my head.
He bows his body, curling over me, stroking my shoulder.
I remove my hands from their stations and place them flat on his thighs, letting my forehead drop to his stomach as I recover from that pretty fucking vigorous activity.
And something warm and bright swells in my chest as he places a palm over mine, squeezing my hand tightly.
We’re still for a moment under the cascade of water as we catch our breath, me on my knees and him standing over me. Until he says the words I’ve been dying to hear.
‘Go get the hand-held and turn it on.’