19. One Day at a Time #3
I trailed kisses down, pausing to tongue at the valley between his abs, biting along each ridge, leaving marks.
He was all muscle and heat, every inch of him begging to be touched, tasted, claimed.
I shifted down, kneeling between his spread thighs, hands sliding up the backs of his legs, squeezing, kneading, worshipping every bit of him.
“Didn’t know you were hiding all this under those boring button-downs,” I teased, licking a slow stripe up his torso.
He barked a laugh, then caught his breath as I scraped my teeth over his hip bone, mouthing at the crease where thigh met pelvis.
“Just for you,” he managed, voice wrecked.
I slid my hands under his arms, lifting them above his head, pinning his wrists to the mattress. “Let me see you. All of you.”
He let me, eyes dark and trusting, muscles flexing as I ran my nose along his bicep, then dipped into his pit, breathing in. The scent was pure man—earthy, salty, musky, intoxicating. I buried my face there, licking, nuzzling, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin, tasting the sweat and salt.
“Jesus, Rowan—” he choked, hips jerking up, cock straining the front of his briefs .
“You smell fucking incredible,” I said, almost drunk on it, letting the daddy kink slip into my voice. “Bet no one’s ever made you beg, huh? Bet you always took what you wanted.”
He grunted, hands gripping the sheets now, his composure unraveling as I worshipped him, mouth and hands everywhere, never settling for long. I licked down his side, biting along his ribs, mapping every scar, every curve, every bit of him that told the story of a life survived.
I settled between his thighs, kneeling so I could touch everywhere—palms gliding up his thick quads, fingers digging into muscle, squeezing, spreading him wide for me. My thumbs traced the edge of his briefs, but I didn’t pull them off. Not yet. I wanted to see him desperate.
I bent low, dragging my tongue up the line of his thigh, pausing to mouth at the crease, so close to where his cock strained, leaking, darkening the cotton with precome.
I pressed my nose right against the bulge, inhaling deep, letting the scent of him—cock, sweat, man—fill my senses. I moaned, lips brushing the damp spot, tongue flicking out to taste salt and heat through the fabric.
He bucked up, groaning, hands flying to my hair, holding me there. “Christ, Rowan, you’re gonna kill me.”
I grinned, licking a slow stripe up the length of his cock, feeling it jerk under the fabric. “You want me to stop?”
He shook his head, wild-eyed, desperate. “No. Don’t you dare.”
“Good boy,” I murmured, letting the kink curl through my words, voice dropping lower, filthier. “Daddy likes it filthy, doesn’t he? Likes it when I worship him?”
He growled, hips rolling up, grinding his cock into my face, rubbing himself over my mouth, my cheeks, anything he could reach.
I opened wide, mouthing him through his briefs, sucking at the head, letting him use me.
He fucked up into my face, breath coming faster, a string of curses spilling from his lips.
I let him, hands sliding up under his shirt, nails digging into his sides, raking down his ribs. He was burning up under me, sweat beading on his chest, the air thick with the smell of us—musk, precum, skin, want.
I licked and sucked, soaking the fabric, pressing my face into his cock, breathing him in like oxygen. He was everything I’d ever wanted—big and solid and wrecked, coming apart for me.
I pulled back, just enough to look up at him, lips swollen, breath ragged.
I dragged my tongue along the waistband of his briefs, nuzzling into the thatch of dark hair, mouthing at the base of his cock, teasing him. I pressed open-mouthed kisses to his hipbones, nipped at the tender skin, leaving marks, owning him.
My hands wandered everywhere—over his abs, chest, thighs, arms, shoulders, cupping, squeezing, never settling. I kissed the inside of his thigh, then moved back up to his pits, licking, sucking, drawing out the salt, the sweat, marking him with spit and teeth.
“Fuck, you like it nasty,” I murmured, grinning against his skin. “Want me to keep going?”
He answered by grabbing my hair, forcing me back down, grinding his cock into my mouth. I let him, drooling, soaking the fabric, letting him fuck my face, using me like he owned me.
“Good boy,” he gasped, “That’s it. Take it, Rowan. Take it for daddy.”
I hummed in approval, tongue working at the head of his cock, teasing the slit, tasting precome through the cloth.
His thighs tensed, flexing, the muscle hard and thick under my palms. I squeezed, loving how big he was, how strong.
How much power he had, and how willingly he was giving it to me now.
I pulled back, licking my lips, then climbed up his body, straddling his hips again, grinding our cocks together through our underwear. The friction was perfect—hot, messy, filthy.
I bent down, biting at his jaw, kissing him hard, sharing the taste of his own sweat and precome.
“You smell so fucking good,” I whispered, grinding down harder. “Could spend all night with my face in your pits, your cock in my mouth.”
He groaned, clutching at my ass, pulling me tighter, rutting up against me, desperate.
“God, you’re filthy,” he panted, eyes dark with need. “You like making daddy feel good? Like worshipping my body?”
“Love it,” I breathed, lips ghosting over his ear. “Love being your good boy. Love how big you are—how strong. How you could break me if you wanted.”
He laughed, low and dangerous, but there was a tremor in it, a vulnerability that made my heart twist.
“Would never break you,” he said, soft for a second, one hand tracing my jaw. “Only want to keep you. Want to see you fall apart for me.”
“Then let me,” I whispered, kissing his palm, then trailing kisses down his arm, his bicep, back to his chest.
I buried my face in his pit again, licking, sucking, marking him. He shivered, sweat beading, hands in my hair, holding me close.
“God, Rowan—please—” he begged, hips jerking, cock leaking, so hard now it looked almost painful.
I licked my way down, nuzzling his cock through his briefs, mouthing the head, dragging my tongue along the wet spot, sucking, teasing him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge .
He gasped, head thrown back, hands fisting the sheets, lost in it, letting me have him, letting me worship every inch.
When I finally looked up, his eyes were wild, pupils blown, chest heaving.
“You’re gonna let me taste you for real?” I whispered, breath hot against his cock.
He nodded, broken, voice a whisper. “Anything, baby. Anything you want.”
“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet,” I promised, voice dark and hungry. “Not even close.”
I slid lower, kneeling between his spread thighs. I hooked my fingers under the waistband, glancing up at him, waiting for any last second of hesitation. All I saw was hunger—raw, unguarded, greedy.
I peeled the briefs down slow, savoring every inch as I revealed him.
The fabric dragged over the swollen head of his cock, and he groaned, hips jerking up.
When I finally freed him, his cock slapped up against his belly, thick and flushed and leaking a bead of precome that glistened in the low light.
My breath caught. He was huge—easily ten and a half inches, thick all the way down, heavy balls hanging between strong, muscled thighs. I couldn’t help the greedy sound that escaped me, the way my hands immediately wrapped around the base, thumb and forefinger barely meeting.
“Fuck,” I whispered, eyes wide. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He let out a shaky laugh, but it died off quick, replaced by that same, desperate need. “Never had anyone want it like you do,” he admitted, voice rough.
I let my grip slide up, thumb tracing the ridge, the swollen veins, the leaking slit. I watched his face as I stroked him, slow and easy, savoring every twitch, every flex of muscle. “You like being big, don’t you?” I teased, leaning down to nuzzle at the base, dragging my nose up the thick shaft.
“Yeah,” he groaned. “Always liked being the biggest. Makes it better when you call me daddy.”
I grinned, biting gently at the side of his cock, then licked a long stripe from base to tip, letting spit drip down over the head. “Want to see how much I can take, daddy? Want to feel me choke on it?”
He made a guttural sound, head thrown back, fists tangled in the sheets. “Yeah. Show me. Be a good boy.”
I circled the head with my tongue, teasing the slit, tasting salt and heat. I licked slow, letting spit pool on the head, working it over with long, slow strokes. I kissed down the shaft, then took him in my mouth—just the tip at first, sucking, tongue swirling, lips tight.
He gasped, hips jerking up, and I held him down with a hand splayed wide on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath my palm. “Fuck, Rowan—so good, baby. That’s it. Show daddy how much you want it.”
I hummed around him, loving the taste, the weight, the sheer challenge of it. I worked my way down, inch by inch, sliding him deeper, sucking, letting my tongue trace every ridge, every vein. I pulled off, gasping for breath, spit glistening on my lips.
“God, you’re so fucking big,” I breathed, stroking him, letting him see how much I loved it. “I want all of it. Want to swallow you down.”
He growled, hand finding my hair, guiding me, not forcing but letting me know what he wanted. “You can take it, can’t you? My good boy.”
“Your best boy,” I promised, then went down again, mouth stretched wide, working my way deeper, relaxing my throat, breathing through my nose .
The head hit the back of my throat and I gagged, spit running down my chin, but I didn’t stop. I let myself drool over him, coating him, making it slick. He shuddered, hips jerking, and I held him in place, determined to take as much as I could.