Chapter 7 #2
“I know, right?” I say, pleased when he allows me to guide him over to the chest positioned at the end of his bed, urging him without words to sit down on top of it.
Holy moly, even with him sitting down, I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact.
“When I get back to LA, I’m auditioning for the lead role in the Muse trilogy.
I’d be playing an assassin. A very grown-up role, compared to my last one.
That’s why everyone is so frantic to present me as a sex symbol.
Not that it excuses their methods.” I wet my lips while searching his expression.
“Do you think I’ll ever be taken seriously in Hollywood, Penn?
Or am I just going to be that girl from Hey Betty my entire life? ”
Picking up on the plaintiveness in my voice, he takes hold of the sides of my face, impressing a stern look on me.
“I don’t think you’ll be taken seriously, baby.
I know. There is nothing you can’t do. There is a reserve of strength inside of you, waiting to be used.
Follow your path and no one else’s…and nothing can stop you from getting where you want to go. ”
“Thank you,” I whisper, blinking moisture away rapidly. Involuntarily curling my fingers in the sides of his jeans, my intentions taking clearer shape inside of me. “Could you lift your hips for a sec?
“Sure,” he says without thinking, but when I pull down his jeans, as well as his boxers, tossing them away, he swallows heavily, his erection jutting up from his lap, mottled and painful looking. “What are you doing?” he asks hoarsely, his upper lip already shiny with sweat.
“Just talking,” I say innocently, before I peel off my tank top—watching his hips jerk, a little spurt of white spraying from the tip of his sex. “Well. Talking topless ,” I amend, batting my eyelashes.
The rumble in his chest speaks of desperation, along with his eyes.
“Ask me for anything, Jenna. Right now.” His irises are nearly black as he zeros in on my breasts, veins straining all over his herculean body.
“God almighty. Standing there with your hot tits out in a skirt so short, I’d hardly need to lift it to take you from the back.
Damn .” His chest shudders up and down. “I need to do something to deserve this king’s treatment. ”
I settle my hands on his shoulders and lean close, dragging my tongue sideways between his sculpted lips. “I can ask you for anything?”
“ Anything , baby.”
I settle my open lips against his ear. “May I please suck your cock so hard that my little girl mouth is sore in the morning?”
“Oh Jesus! Jenna,” he growls through his teeth—and he proceeds to masturbate, his fist rifling up and down that beefy, darkening trunk, knuckles white from the pressure he’s applying. “I can barely think about you sucking on it without coming, baby. No.”
“But you said I could have anything,” I murmur, pouting, doodling invisible circles into his chest hair. “I want to give my first blow job. Are you worried I won’t be good at it?”
Rivulets of sweat pour down the sides of his face, his fist still stroking in a furious rhythm.
“God, no, I’m not worried…about that…” he pants.
“I’m worried once you put my cock in that pretty mouth, I’ll be walking around with wood the rest of my life.
” He looks conflicted. “Go down and give it a kiss and watch me blow every which way.”
“I want to suck, ” I whine.
His curse is ragged. “Two sucks. That’s it.”
I jump up and down with excitement, and he looks near-death watching my breasts bounce, his hand jacking faster, his big feet shifting on the floor, a lump bobbing in his throat, as if something is coming.
Instinctively, I hurry to my knees, taking over the job of milking him, though it takes my two hands, instead of one.
“Oh, my goodness, Daddy, it looks so much bigger from down here.”
His groans brokenly, his mighty thighs starting to quake, his hands searching for purchase, one gripping the edge of the trunk, the other fist capturing my long hair, wrapping the strands tight around his knuckles. “Two sucks. Two. Then get out of the way, baby.”
I slowly plump my lips against his engorged head, kissing and nuzzling. “Why?”
“I’m going to come like a motherfucker,” he says through his teeth. “Oh baby, I’m going to come so much, you could drown if it’s still in your mouth.”
I’ve never given a lot of thought to a man’s spend before, but I’m definitely thinking about it now—in terms of Penn, only.
How stimulated he must be for his body to release a flood of pleasure.
How I’m the one giving him that stimulation.
And when I think about it that way, come is really hot, isn’t it?
I want to experience it up close and personally.
So I stretch my lips around his monstrous arousal and start to work my mouth in an up and down massage, pleasure sensors lighting me up like a pinball machine.
I moan and scoot my knees closer, the flesh between my legs getting swollen and achy, almost right away, from the raw, salty taste of Penn’s cock.
The ridges and textures and how he prays to God in that guttural, shaky voice while I force his inches as deep as I can stand, using my resulting tears as lubricant to give him a tight hand job at the same time, my cheeks hollow with eager sucking.
My Daddy tastes so good , I say to him with my glazed eyes, my mouth full to capacity. Hurting my lips in the best way.
“Lord oh lord oh lord.” His mountainous torso is shaking up and down, his words coming out slurred. “Get it out of your mouth before you choke to death.”
I purr around his steely flesh, my right hand cupping his balls and teasing them with skims of my palm, followed by a gentle squeeze—and he erupts.
Whoa.
I don’t get him out of my mouth in time—I can’t, because he’s swelled so much that I fear he’s stuck, and now salty fluid sprays the back of my throat, wave after wave of thickness, and I swallow as fast as I can, the taste having a drugging effect on me, because of what it represents.
Penn’s attraction to me. His homage to my mouth and how it moved on his cock. How I look on my knees for him.
He brays like a beast above me, his legs kicked out and shaking, his hips tilted up at a crude angle, and all I want to do is continue to drink his lust from my perfect vantage point where I have the privilege of watching this strong man fall apart.
Finally, he has spent enough to release him from my mouth, and I fall forward into his lap, gasping for air, while he continues to fountain milky white fluid up onto my face, my neck, my breasts.
And the next thing I know, I’m face down over his lap, my skirt being jerked up violently to the small of my back. Cool air coasts over my feverish skin.
“I said two sucks.” His palm cracks sharply against my left butt cheek, the sound reverberating around the room. “Not two minutes .”
“I couldn’t stop,” I hiccup, getting another rough spank for my trouble, the stunning pain turning my nerve endings into snapdragons.
Something is happening. Something I’ve never experienced before.
I want to be walloped. Want to taste his frustration in the back of my throat in the same place where he put his climax. “I never w-wanted to stop.”
“How am I supposed to live with that image in my head?” He glances his palm off my buttocks, and I let out a throaty moan, feeling myself start to drip inside my thong.
A drip that increases slowly until I’ve dampened the insides of my thighs.
“How am I supposed to live with this memory? How am I supposed to live a normal life now that I’ve found you, baby? How? ”
I’m too overwhelmed by the pressure in my throat and the lust coursing through my body to hold back anymore.
I scramble up into his lap, wrapping my legs around his hips and diving into a kiss that couldn’t be more passionate if it was scripted.
Because it’s real. It’s real. He kisses me like he knows me and sees the best parts of me.
He kisses me like he loves me—and I kiss him back the same way.
“Don’t let me go,” I gasp when we come up for air.
Penn’s eyes flash with a depth of emotion that makes me cry out, then I’m whimpering on my back because he’s twisted around and thrown me onto the soft bedding, his hearty lumberjack body prowling over mine, his mouth feasting on my breasts, sucking and licking my nipples while his fingers slide up between my legs and enter me, two long, blunt digits that mimic how his sex fucked me earlier in my trailer, fingering me with rough, jiggling pumps that cause stars to twinkle in front of my eyes.
“Go on, you tight pussy’d little girl. Come for Daddy while you’ve still got his sperm on your chin and his handprint on your sweet ass.”
The orgasm arrests every muscle in my body, his mouth stamping over mine just in time to catch my scream, and I’m blinded with bliss, but I can see just enough to acknowledge the squirt that he juices from my body with his relentless fingers and how much it turns him on, the slack-jawed praise in his expression prolonging the ripples of release, straining my very being until my frame melts down onto the bed and I’m crying like a baby, shaking under the perfect duress of it all.
Penn gathers me up close, cradling me, his hands coasting over my hair, down my back, smoothing my hips and drawing me deeper, deeper into his embrace, until I’m plastered there, fitted to him like second skin, which is exactly where I want and need to be.
If his thundering heartbeat is any proof, it’s where he needs me to be, too.
“You’re okay, baby,” he rasps. “I’ve got you.”
“I know.” I draw back slightly, meeting his eyes. “You’ve got me.”
After a thoughtful moment, he nods once, then tucks my head back into his neck. “Sleep now. Leave it with me.”
Leave it with me.
Perhaps the most incredible words anyone has ever said to me. It’s like a knockout punch to my anxiety and I simply go limp, knowing nothing bad is going to happen.
At least not tonight.