Chapter 9 Pumpkin Patch Disaster #5
I wanted to worship every inch of him. I wanted to see him lose that perfect composure, to watch him come undone, wild and desperate just for me. My mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses to his inner thigh, tongue dragging up toward the place he wanted me most, stopping just short of the prize.
Hands kneaded his thighs, squeezing, feeling the power coiled there, the tension trembling under my grip. My lips followed the line of his briefs, nuzzling the root of his cock, breathing him in. The musk, the salt, the faint trace of sweat—all of it heady, intoxicating.
“Been dreaming about this,” I admitted, voice barely more than a whimper. “Wanted you so bad it hurt.”
Derek’s fingers dug into my shoulders, grounding himself. “Then show me. Show me how much you want it.”
My tongue flicked out, tasting him through the soaked cotton, swirling over the head, pressing down the shaft. The weight of him was addictive, the way he pulsed for me, the way he gasped as I mouthed at him, sucking gently, teeth nipping at the fabric.
“Jesus, you’re filthy,” Derek groaned, eyes locked on mine in the mirror, pupils blown wide with need. “You love teasing me, don’t you?”
“I want to ruin you,” I breathed, biting just above the waistband, then licking the angry red mark I left behind.
With a wicked grin, I dragged his briefs down, freeing his cock at last. It sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed dark and glistening at the tip. My breath hitched—he was big, almost too big, perfect for every filthy thing I imagined.
Fingers wrapped around the shaft, squeezing, thumb brushing over the slick head, spreading the precome around, making it shine in the soft bedroom light. My other hand cradled his balls, rolling them, squeezing just enough to make him groan.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmured, more to myself than him, stroking him slowly, eyes glued to his cock, watching every twitch and pulse.
Derek’s head fell back, jaw clenched, chest heaving with effort to keep still. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll embarrass myself.”
“Maybe I want to see you fall apart,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss the head, tasting salt and heat. My lips mapped the shaft, slow and greedy, tongue pressing flat against the thick vein running along the underside, my hand pumping, milking every drop of precome.
I sucked his balls into my mouth, one at a time, worshipping every inch, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, lips mouthing every inch. His hips bucked, cock bobbing against my cheek, smearing precum, marking me.
The heat in the room was suffocating, the need almost painful. My free hand stroked his thigh, up to his hip, nails digging in just enough to leave little crescent moons.
I nuzzled the base, burying my face in the thick hair, breathing him in, lost to the moment, letting him feel every ounce of worship, of hunger, of adoration.
“Fuck, Miles, you’re gonna kill me,” Derek gasped, hands flying to my hair, tugging, not guiding, just holding on.
My tongue flicked up, tracing the length, swirling around the head, then licking the shaft from root to tip, leaving it wet and glistening. My lips pressed kisses all over, each one a claim, a promise, a mark that would last longer than any bruise.
“You’re mine,” I whispered, pumping him slow, rubbing the head against my cheek, wanting him to see himself on me, in me, all over me.
The way he watched, hungry and awed, the way his cock pulsed in my grip, told me everything I needed. He was close, but not yet—not until I had wrung every sound from his lips, every shiver from his body.
The power shift happened fast—one moment I was in control, the next Derek’s hand was tangled in my hair, dragging me up with a roughness that sent heat rushing straight to my cock.
He bent, lips at my ear, voice pitched low and hungry.
“You like teasing, don’t you? Think you can get away with driving me insane? ”
My knees hit the carpet in front of the full-length mirror, the cool glass just inches from my face.
The world narrowed to Derek’s reflection—broad chest heaving, cock flushed and leaking, eyes blazing with intent.
He stood over me, one hand gripping the base of his cock, other twisting in my hair, guiding my gaze up, forcing me to watch every filthy second.
“Worship,” Derek growled, hips canting forward, the tip of his cock smearing precome across my cheek, marking me in a streak that glistened under the bedroom lights. “Show us both what you’re good for. Open your mouth. Nice and wide.”
Obedience was instinct—my lips parted, tongue lolling, mouth watering at the sight and smell of him, all salt and heat and power.
His cock pressed to my lips, heavy and hot, demanding surrender.
I sucked the head between my lips, swirling my tongue around the slit, tasting him, moaning at the way he pulsed for me.
“That’s it, pretty boy,” he purred, voice thick, watching every move in the glass. “Eyes on us. Want to see how ruined you look, how filthy you are for me.”
My gaze locked with his in the mirror. The sight of myself—on my knees, cheeks flushed, mouth stuffed full of him—sent another jolt of heat through me.
My hand gripped the base, steadying him as I took more, tongue swirling, lips sealing around the thick shaft, letting spit drip and string from my chin.
He didn’t let me set the pace. Strong hands took over, guiding my head, pushing deeper, hips rocking just enough to press the head of his cock against the back of my throat.
I swallowed, gagging a little, and he groaned, fingers flexing in my hair, not hurting, just reminding me who owned every inch of me tonight.
“Such a good fucking mouth,” Derek muttered, his voice a rasp that set my nerves alight. “You love this, don’t you? Love showing off for me. Love knowing I could ruin you with just a word.”
His cock dragged out, saliva webbing between my lips and his shaft.
He slapped it against my tongue, painting my face, marking me with each heavy, deliberate tap.
My jaw ached, eyes watered, but the need only burned hotter.
I wanted to take all of him, wanted to choke on it, wanted to see him break for me.
Fingers stroked my cheek, thumb tracing the mess he’d left there. “Beg for it,” he demanded, the words a dark thrill.
“Please,” I croaked, voice ruined, spit running down my chin. “Want you in my throat. Want you to fuck my mouth. Make me yours.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, lining up again, feeding his cock back between my lips.
The rhythm was slow at first—long, deep thrusts, letting me savor the stretch, the taste, the power in every motion.
He watched in the mirror, drinking in every reaction, every moan, every desperate glance.
The praise came filthy, relentless. “Such a perfect slut for me. Look at you—face fucked, eyes all glassy, drooling for cock. You’d let me keep you like this all night, wouldn’t you?”
I moaned around him, nodding as best I could, fingers digging into his thighs, nails biting deep. Each thrust set my head bobbing, spit slicking his shaft, running down to wet my chest, the sound of it obscene in the quiet room.
Derek’s hips snapped forward, holding me down, cock buried in my throat until my vision sparkled at the edges. “Take it. Swallow every fucking inch. Want you to remember this—remember who made you come undone.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I never looked away from our reflection. The sight of him—cock disappearing between my lips, face twisted with pleasure, muscles flexing with restraint—made me ache, made me desperate for more.
He finally pulled out, letting me gasp for air, spit and precome smeared across my mouth, chin, neck. He cupped my face, thumbing the mess across my cheeks, painting me with his want.
“Kiss it,” he commanded, voice velvet and gravel. “Show me how much you love it.”
My lips pressed reverent kisses along the length, tongue lapping at the slick, tasting myself and him, worshiping every vein and ridge. I mouthed at his balls, nuzzling, sucking, wanting him everywhere, wanting to be marked and claimed.
“Can’t get enough of you,” I whispered, licking a fat bead of precome from the slit, sucking it down, hungry for more.
He groaned, hand tightening in my hair, a silent threat and a promise. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, lips swollen, jaw aching. “Always. However you want me.”
A dark, hungry sound broke from Derek’s throat. Fingers twisted in my hair, forcing my head back, and his other hand gripped his cock at the base—thick and shining, flushed a deep, angry red. “Open up,” he growled, voice gone hoarse with want.
Mouth dropped wide, tongue lolling, I watched our reflection—saw myself kneeling, lips parted in need, cheeks streaked with spit and arousal, eyes heavy-lidded with hunger.
Derek spat down at me, slow and deliberate, watching it land wet and hot on my tongue.
The taste was sharp, his flavor filling my mouth.
A second, a third, each spit heavier, rougher, until my chin was slick and the mess ran down my throat, marking me from the inside out.
“Swallow it. Show me.” He waited, thumb forcing my jaw wider, watching every muscle in my throat work as I gulped it down. Approval burned in his eyes, savage and gentle all at once.
“You love being dirty for me, don’t you?” His words were a growl, thick with pride and disbelief. “Such a good boy—filthy and perfect.”
His cock slapped against my cheek, leaving a smear of precome, then across my lips, my nose, my other cheek.
Each impact was a blessing, a punishment, a claim.
My cock jerked, leaking all over my own thigh.
Another slap—harder, wetter. Then he aimed lower, smacking the weight of his dick against my tongue, making me whimper and chase after it, desperate to taste, to please.