27. JULES #3
With a wicked grin, I duck lower and tongue the skin just below his balls.
His rough sounds have me burning hotter, and he shifts his hips forward, giving me even lower access.
My tongue circles the opening and dips inside, and his wild moan shoots straight to my core.
I’m thorough, licking up and down, round and round, nails digging into his arse cheeks to hold him in position.
I want to leave his as raw and wanting as he left mine.
I offer up some saliva and watch it sink inside.
And because he makes me feel extra spicy, I give it a sloppy kiss before working my way back to the main event.
‘You’re a fucking goddess,’ he chokes out as my lips find his dick again, and jerks when I squeeze his balls.
‘You ok?’ I ask when I notice his hand finding his neck from the corner of my eye.
‘That’s a dumb question to ask a man getting head,’ he chastises through heavy breaths. ‘You should know better than that.’
His slick wetness coats my tongue as I take him again. I fist the base of his cock, swirling my tongue around the head. His fingers thread through my hair and push me further down so he’s pushing against my throat.
‘Take it like a good girl,’ he’s saying. ‘Fuck my dick with that dirty little mouth of yours.’
My fingers find my clit and start circling as he devolves into Spanish. I can feel him throbbing in my mouth. He’s close, but I’m closer. Maybe he just needs a little nudge.
‘I want your cum in my throat,’ I say, pumping his dick in my hand. Dirty talk feels foreign to me but he eats it up, staring at me with eyes dazed and lips parted. ‘Will you do that for me? Will you feed me?’
Before he can respond, my mouth is back on his dick, sucking like he’s my last meal.
His hand grips my head and his movements are wild.
My touch quickens on myself, stroking my swollen folds.
I’m dripping so much my fingers can barely stay in place.
It’s running down the insides of my thighs.
I want his dick in there so much I might die.
‘You ready to take my load, baby?’ he rasps.
I suck harder, and soon, with a deep groan, he holds my head in place and warm cream spills down my throat. I moan around his dick as I follow, the feeling of him emptying his huge load into me sending me over the edge.
I lean back to make sure he’s watching. Slowly, methodically, I rub the remnants of him into my lips like gloss. His mouth parts and after a few seconds, he launches forward and kisses me so hard I see stars.
As he pulls back, he makes a sad face. ‘I want to fuck you so bad.’
‘That might kill you.’ I grab my top off the floor and chuck it over my head.
‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’
The glint in his eye’s back and it makes something inside me deflate.
‘Come on,’ I step into my thong, ‘let’s watch the pilot and call it a night.’
While he takes great pains to get dressed, I check my messages and Minnie’s name pops up.
One of the WAGs has asked if I could join their next dinner.
They’re chic affairs with personalised goodies and selfies galore, often in the most exclusive restaurants around race weekends.
I can’t keep myself from grinning. At last, they see me as one of them.
This is exactly what I need to kick things up to the next level.
With millions of followers between them and some being influencers in their own right, they’re the perfect set to align myself with.
I look up to share the news, and stop myself. It feels like it’ll ruin the mood. I touch the keypad on my laptop and the big screen bursts to life.
‘Yo he’s in Gilmore Girls!’ yells Tiago as the show opens.
I shoot Minnie a quick excited WhatsApp and turn my phone face down on the coffee table. ‘You have such a weirdly selective memory.’
‘C’mere.’
His arm’s lying along the back of the sofa behind me. I stare at it, then I stare at him. ‘Why?’
He laughs. ‘Because I can’t fuck you so the least I can do is cuddle you.’
‘But I don’t want one.’
It’s one of my boundaries. Cuddling means comfort, security, stillness, closeness – none of which I can offer men.
They can feel your heartbeat, hear your breathing, sense your nerves.
And your clothes are on. How can you keep someone at arm’s length when their arm would literally be encircling you?
I guess Tiago’s different, though…
‘Well I do. My love language is physical touch,’ he states proudly, like I asked.
‘There’s a shock.’
‘I’m Latin, sue me. Yours is yumnuts.’
That makes me smile. ‘I don’t have a love language.’
‘Everyone has one. Anyway, you’re talking over the episode and I almost died today, so shut up and snuggle.’
With a heavy sigh I submit and his arm wraps around me uselessly. He’s very warm despite wearing half as many clothes as me. It’s a little comforting, I suppose.
‘This is fun,’ he whispers, and I know he’s not talking about One Tree Hill or the fact that my cheek’s clumsily stuck to his chest.
When I look up, he’s smiling softly to himself, watching the screen.
I settle back against his tanned pec. ‘Yeah, it is,’ I say, even quieter.