Chapter 21
Stick a Fork in Me
Tripp
My mind is racing with a million ideas of how I can make Quinn’s wish come true.
She wants it dirty. Well, that happens to be my specialty.
I snag the bottle of tequila from the kitchen island behind her and force myself to walk into the living room. She lets out a soft whimper when my body is no longer pressed against hers.
So needy. So fucking desperate.
And I love it.
I revel in the feeling of being so wanted.
“Come here and open that perfect mouth,” I say, taking a deep swig straight from the bottle.
She trails after me, eyes on mine as she steps right in front of me and parts her lips. My hand cups her jaw as I lean in and spit the tequila into her mouth.
Dirty.
Messy.
Raw.
“Swallow,” I command.
She does as I ask, her eyes blazing with a heat so consuming that I want this moment to last forever. Her tongue darts out, cleaning a drop from her lips, and I exhale a shuddering breath.
I’m strung so tight right now, I feel like I might break apart from the tension. I take another drink, this time swallowing it myself as my eyes rake over her body, still fully clothed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, hair a bit tousled from how I ran my fingers through it, lips a little swollen.
I remember what she’d looked like dancing on top of the bar at Herds the other night. Her eyes lit with a fire that was new and exciting. I think she’d enjoyed being watched like that, and it gives me an idea.
“Strip for me,” I say, sinking into the large, overstuffed leather chair, tequila sloshing in the bottle. “Let me see what I’ve been missing.”
She smirks and runs her thumb over the hem of her shirt, a glint in her eye that has me—not so discreetly—readjusting myself.
That’s right, honey. I understood the assignment.
Her fingers slide under her T-shirt, and she drags it up slowly, baring her stomach, her ribs, her bare breasts, before it’s finally over her head and on the floor.
Her eyes stay locked on mine, and I swear I stop breathing at the playful gleam surfacing in her gaze.
She thumbs open the button of her jeans and takes her time—drawing it out—as she shimmies them down her thighs.
I grip the armrest, my throat dry from the vision of her in front of me in nothing but a thin scrap of lace.
I drink her in. The way that tiny triangle of fabric clings to her. Her smooth skin and the gentle curve of her thighs. Her pert breasts, nipples hard and begging for attention.
“Keep going,” I murmur, voice like gravel. “I wanna see it all.”
Her fingers slip beneath the waistband, and she slides them down, agonizingly slow. But it’s not the curve of her ass or her glistening pussy that catches my attention, that sucks the air from my lungs.
It’s the tiny tattoo inked low on her hip.
A little Winnie the Pooh, holding a jar dripping with honey.
I blink and then let a low chuckle escape.
“You have a tattoo,” I rasp, eyes glued to the mark on her hip. “Is Winnie the Pooh dipping his hand in your honey pot?”
Quinn throws her head back to laugh, flushed with a confidence that’s impossible to ignore.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Crawl to me,” I say, voice low and rough as desire surges up my spine. “I want a better look at it.”
Her lips part, and her breath hitches. She hesitates only a beat before she drops to her knees. And then she moves.
It might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Hips swaying—slow and deliberate—as she crawls to me. Her gaze locks on mine, smirking like she knows exactly what this is doing to me.
Yeah, it’s definitely the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I’m leaking so much my boxers are soaked. I shift, trying to adjust myself, but heat flashes through me, and I let out a shaky breath. How the hell am I already this close to coming?
The moment she’s close enough, I reach for her. She rises to stand between my knees, and I brush my thumb over that dirty little tattoo.
“Cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” I murmur. “Also, the filthiest.”
She runs her fingers through my hair absentmindedly. “I think I might love being filthy.”
Goddamn.
I grab the bottle of tequila and pour it over her tits, watching it drip over her slight curves. Her breathing is shaky and her skin glistens, nipples pebbled as I lean forward and lap up every drop like a man dying of thirst.
“Oh God, Tripp.”
The air whooshes from her lungs as my lips close around her nipple, sucking deep and slow.
She wanted messy. She wanted dirty. And I have zero problem obliging her.
“More,” she begs.
She throws her head back as I tip the bottle again, letting the tequila trail between her breasts and over her flat stomach.
I lick my way back up, savoring every drop, giving extra attention to her nipples.
They’re slick and swollen—fucking irresistible.
It makes everything feel even filthier. Hotter.
I circle them with my fingers before sucking one back into my mouth, greedy.
She’s straddling my lap now, grinding against me in a way that should be illegal.
There’s a buzz under my skin, and I’m not sure if it’s from the tequila or if I’m drunk on her.
Her fingers slide under my shirt, nails scraping gently down my stomach. She thumbs open the button on my jeans—but I stop her, wrapping my hand around her wrist.
I know the second her hand gets anywhere near my cock, I’m going to come. Hard.
I need to build up some sort of tolerance to her. I refuse to go down in her memory as a one-pump chump. If I can make her come and not lose it from just the sight of her, then maybe next time I’ll let her touch me.
But right now? I don’t trust myself with her hands on me.
It has been too long since I’ve felt a woman’s soft hands wrapped around me, even longer since I’ve sunk into a cunt this sweet, and I am not about to embarrass myself. Again.
I’m better than that.
Besides, she deserves… Christ. She deserves so much better than me.
But I can give her what she’s so eager for. We can play this game—exactly like she wants.
I slide my hands beneath her thighs and gently lift her knees, placing one on each armrest. She’s open, panting, glistening.
“Let’s see if you taste just as sweet as that honey.”
I sink lower into my chair and kiss the tattoo low on her hip before hovering over her pussy. She rocks her hips forward impatiently. But I don’t give her what she wants right away.
Instead, I coast my lips in a teasing circuit—brushing over the spot where I know she’s aching for my tongue. She chases my mouth, and I inhale her sharp, musky scent. It’s hot and heady, and it makes my dick go even harder.
I nip at her thigh, and she gasps.
“Tripp. Please. I need to... fuck, I need your mouth.”
My name drips from her lips like honey, and those urgent little pleas? They’re the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I love how eager she is for this. How much she wants it.
My fingers dig into the flesh of her hips as I finally swipe my tongue through her pussy. And that taste?
Fuck.
Stick a fork in me.
I’m done.
I have to force myself to stay in control, to not lose it just from tasting that intoxicating mixture of salty and sweet on my tongue.
Five years of celibacy is doing me no favors tonight. It takes everything in me to get my dick in check so I don’t come in my pants a second time.
Goddamn. This woman is my kryptonite.
It’s the first time I’ve ever done this with her. The first time I’m getting to taste her. And already she tastes like she’s mine—like this part of her belongs just to me.
I’m nothing but a weak mess of a man—ready to come from the sight, the taste, the sound of her. I don’t even need her to touch me.
I don’t deserve to be with someone so perfect, but she’s begging me to earn it. And I’ve never been more eager to prove myself.
“Mm, you’re so fucking wet,” I murmur between her thighs. “You taste so sweet, honey. I’m gonna want to eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
She groans at my words, and I flick my tongue over her clit. She jerks in my arms, fingers tunnelling through my hair so she can hold me right there.
I don’t think I’ve ever made the sound that tears from my throat. It’s frenzied and raw. A growl, a moan, a whimper. I don’t even care.
“That’s it, Quinnie. Ride my face.”
I dive into her pussy like a starving man going for the full buffet. Her hips roll with every stroke of my tongue, her body unashamed and demanding.
The way she’s moving against me, holding me in place while she takes her pleasure from me? It’s obscene. And so fucking hot.
I latch onto her clit, skate a hand up to her chest, and roll her nipple between my fingers.
She cries out, wetness coating my face as her hips stutter. “Yes, Tripp. I’m—I’m... fuck. I’m coming.”
And she does—thighs clenching around my head, making it impossible to breathe.
But being smothered by Quinn Dawson’s pussy would be one hell of a way to go, so I hold on to her hips and let her ride out her orgasm on my tongue, until she goes boneless.
I slide her knees off the armrests and reach for my jeans, yanking them open and finally pulling my cock free.
I spit into my palm, and her breath catches at the sound, eyes locked on me as I wrap a firm hand around my dick.
“Fuck, honey,” I sigh, stroking slowly. “Look at you. Hair all messy, skin all wet, covered in my spit and your come… I’m gonna make such a beautiful mess of you.”
She leans forward and kisses me—open-mouthed and ravenous with desire. I moan into her mouth as my fist works my cock.
Her hips roll instinctively, like she’s chasing more, aching for another release already.
Pre-cum leaks freely and I smear it over her, coating her slit, cock sliding through her slick center, circling her bundle of nerves. She gasps and leans back, watching in fascination as I do it again.
The crude, wet sound of me fucking my fist fills the room.
“Fuck. Tripp. That’s so hot. I want you to come.”
Shit. I’m right there. I don’t think I can hold back another second. Not with her looking at me like that. Watching me, like the sight of me jerking off against her pussy, is the sexiest thing she’s ever seen.
“Where do you want it, honey?”
She exhales a soft laugh. “Everywhere.”
One stroke. Two. And then I’m coming. Hard.
Thick ropes of cum spill across her skin. Her pussy. Her stomach. Her tits.
“Oh God, yes,” she breathes, like that’s exactly what she wanted.
I smirk. My girl definitely likes it messy.
I slide a finger through my mess and bring it to her clit. Her hips twitch, and she gasps. My other hand finds the release coating her chest, and I rub it into her skin, swiping it over her nipple.
She cries out, her body tight and hovering right on that ledge. One more pinch. Another swipe of my thumb. And she goes tumbling off, shuddering against me as another orgasm tears through her.
Quinn Dawson is covered in my cum, the remnants of tequila sticky on her skin. Her hair’s tangled and her mascara is running.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.