The Intersection Of Love And Lust #3
His eyes search my face, and he sees something there that must reassure him, because his grip on my head tightens, and he slowly applies downward pressure. "Make me come, Story," he murmurs.
"Fuck yes," I gasp, and take him in my mouth again, down my throat again, and then pump his root and suckle around his head.
I go faster and faster until he's panting and bucking and writhing, and then he pulls at me to slow me.
“Wait, wait, wait," he murmurs. "Slow."
I go slow, then, my eyes lifted to his as my lips slick down his length, and then….
"Fuck!" he snarls. "I need to…fuck. I need you. I need to fuck your mouth."
"Do it," I whisper. "Show me."
"Don't let me hurt you."
"I won't. Promise.”
And then, with a soft growl, he adjusts his grip on my head, gathering my hair into a ponytail in his fist at the back of my head, and his other hand cups above his fist and pushes me down.
I go willingly, and then he thrusts once, and I taste his pre-cum and feel him pulsing, and he growls.
And now he doesn’t push; instead, he thrusts.
I open my mouth and throat for him and adjust my angle so I can take him like this, and he holds me where he wants me and fucks into my mouth.
"Oh my god, Story," he whispers, his voice raspy and hoarse. "Holy fuck. Holy fuck. I'm gonna come so goddamn hard!"
"Mmmm-hmmmm!" I cry, wordless and shrill and breathless with legitimately eager excitement.
He rocks into me, then, hard and fast, thrusting and driving and grunting, holding my head in place with both hands, and the closer he is to release, the more sounds he makes, the wilder his movements are, and the more turned on I am.
And then he loses the last vestiges of his control, and this is what I crave—his wildness, his aggression, his out-of-control need.
For me.
He grips my hair hard, tight, and fucks up into my mouth while pushing me down, and yet he knows how to make sure he doesn't go too deep.
I feel him nearing the edge—I feel it in the throb of his cock, the tightening of his balls, the stutter and stagger of his thrusts, the way he gasps, the way he groans…
And then he can't even thrust anymore, can only push up off the couch, ass cheeks rock hard, abs harder, chin tucked to his chest, hands helplessly crush-gripping the mass of my hair in one hand and cupping the back of my neck with the other, and now it's up to me to take him over the edge.
I pump my fist around his root as fast as my hand will go, and with the other I massage his taint, pressing my fingers against the delicate secret seam of skin there, and I press my middle fingertip closer and closer to the knot of muscle, and his breath catches in a sharp gasp…
And then he finally, finally comes with a long low snarling sigh.
I match his sigh with a shocked whimper as he floods my mouth and throat with his seed, salty and tangy and semi-sweet, and I swallow it all down and pump him for more, and I receive all I could ever wish and so, so much more.
My god, so much cum. His hot cock pulses and pounds against my lips, and I massage his taint and caress his length slowly and gently now, lips around his glans as I suckle, pause to gulp and to breathe, then lick his length from base to glans, rolling my mouth over his cock-head just before he spurts more cum.
I don’t quite catch it all, and a dribble of it trickles down his shaft—I lick it away, and then lick again, and again, and he's silent and open-mouthed and wide-eyed, brow furrowed with furious wild awe.
Slowly, he subsides and stops coming, and his ass sinks to the couch and he resumes breathing, albeit raggedly.
"Story," he whispers when he has his breath back.
I remain on my knees between his thighs, pumping his length and licking and suckling, and he shudders and thrusts a few times helplessly.
"Fucking…fuck," he snarls. "Jesus, Story."
I meet his eyes, knowing my self-satisfied grin is wide and bold. "Hi."
He brushes a thumb over my lips, looks at the pad of his thumb—it glistens with an errant drop of cum. I lick it away greedily. "Jesus help me, you're fucking incredible. If I wasn’t crazy fucking in love with you already, I would be now."
I stare up at him, sitting on my heels between his legs with my hands on his thighs. "That was so fucking hot, Killian."
He shakes his head. "You're telling me?" He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "Come up here." He draws me to my feet and then settles me on his thighs, straddling him.
I sit there on his lap and gaze down at him, awash with a million emotions, most of them variations on the intersection of love and lust. He gazes at me with his green eyes sparking fire, liquid with heated need—for me, now, rather than his own release.
His cock lies slack against his hipbone, slowly receding from full erection, and I already want him again—but now I need him, I need him inside me, I need him to—god, to ruin me.
I'm panting with need, my core aching, my nipples so tight and hard they hurt. “Is…" my voice gives out, and I swallow and try again. "Is it my turn, now?"
We both listen.
Snurrrgghhh-snore….sigh—snurrrgghhh-snore…sigh
"Try and stop me," he growls.