Chapter 23 #2
When I look up, I find Titus watching me, engrossed, as I reach for the belt of his jeans. I work it open before flipping the button free and dragging down the zipper, spreading the well-worn fabric as wide as I can so I can reach as much of him as possible.
The head of his cock is fighting the waistband of his boxer briefs, like it’s as eager for my attention as I am to give it.
Hooking my fingers beneath the elastic, I carefully lift it up and out so I don't drag the fabric over any part of him.
Since I made plenty of room to work, I also created plenty of room for his dick, the full scope of it able to spring free.
I suck in a breath. That is a lot of square footage.
Yes, I've felt it rub up against me more than a few times, but it can be difficult to estimate what's going on with clothes in the way. Even then, I doubt I could have imagined a dick like this all on my own, which is saying something considering I’m the imagining queen.
I've never been of the opinion that the male genitalia is particularly attractive, but Titus’s cock is downright pretty. Perfectly proportioned and girthy without being scary. Smooth skin, prominent veins...
And a slight curve that makes my thighs clench. Because I can imagine the spot it will hit.
My mouth waters at the sight of him, and that almost makes me laugh because of how ridiculous it is. Just as ridiculous as the perfection of his penis.
Lifting my eyes to Titus's face because I want to see his expression, I lean in, and lick him from root to tip.
The movement proves my assumptions correct.
His head falls back and his eyes drop closed as he lets out the sexiest groan imaginable.
But almost immediately, he straightens and brings his gaze back to me.
Like he doesn't want to miss a thing either.
And if he wants a show, I’m more than happy to give it to him.
Keeping my eyes on his face, I wrap my lips around the width of his crown, flicking my tongue against his already leaking slit before sinking over him as far as I can go.
It's not as far as I'd like, but after pulling back, I'm able to go lower on my second go thanks to the saliva slicking his skin.
When he bumps the back of my throat, I get my answer about what Titus will grip—the chair, or my hair. The answer is both.
The fingers of one hand wrap around the arm rest as the others tangle in my strands, each holding tight as I bob over him, humming a little to increase the sensation with the slight vibration of my voice.
Not for another second does Titus look away from me. Maybe not even to blink. It's like the initial feel of my mouth on his skin overwhelmed him, but he'll be damned if it happens again, because he's not missing a fucking thing.
And that is really freaking sexy. It's also really freaking empowering to have a man unable to take his eyes off me. It makes me a little bolder. I want to give him more than he's expecting. I also want to see if I can make him accidentally close his eyes again.
The next time I pull back, I hollow my cheeks, sucking a little harder as I slide up his dick. I watch his face, and I swear his eyes flutter, almost closing as a groan rumbles through his chest and his fingers flex against my scalp.
"Fucking hell, Mariah." He's panting now, making his words choppy. "You might kill me with that mouth."
The mouth in question is too stuffed with his dick to smile, but my cheeks tighten anyway, an odd sort of pleasure snaking through me.
Pleasing a man isn't what I would have called a chore, but I didn't crave it.
Didn't think about it obsessively. Didn't treat it like a quest. Not until Titus. And I don't see that stopping.
Because I'm already planning what I could do next time to make it even better for him.
He definitely has to be naked, because there is more of him I want to suck on.
This time, his jeans are blocking the path I'd need to take.
Maybe in his bed, where he can be stretched out, his strong, toned body on full display so I can see every muscle twitch.
Every jerk of his limbs. Every curl of his toes as—
"Fuck." Titus’s voice is sharp. So are the fingers in my hair as he pulls my mouth off him, his other hand leaving the armrest to grip his dick. A second later, it jerks against his hold, a spurt of cum reaching the middle of his chest as he strokes down his length.
I stare at him, transfixed at the sight of him finishing himself off, the mess on his shirt spreading with each twitch of his cock.
After a final groan and a deep breath, he peels the ruined cotton off his body and uses it to wipe any lingering mess off his dick before shoving it back into his pants with quick movements.
Then his hands are back on me, lifting me up, pulling me close. One teases along the waistband of my sleeping pants as he asks, “Have I earned any rights of access?”
I’m throbbing and desperate to get off, but…
I bet that’s how Titus was the last time he made a meal of me, and I don’t want to be greedy.
Plus, I made a meal for him and it’s getting cold.
Pushing away, I climb off his lap and back toward the door. “Yes. But you’ve also earned the right to a relatively hot breakfast.” I give him a grin. “And a fresh shirt.”