“There. All better?” he chuckled with the sexiest grin on his face.
“Mmm-hmm,” I barely eked out, nodding my head like only an idiot would.
He sat back in his chair, remnants of the ice cream and my juices glistening on his chin. I was so mortified that I actually blushed. I mean, that much wetness couldn’t be normal, could it?
“Pussy à la mode—my favorite.” He grabbed his napkin, wiping his mouth and chin.
I pulled the shirt down to cover myself and hopefully some of my embarrassment, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“You still haven’t had my cherry,” I said suggestively.
Noah let out a hearty belly laugh, rubbing his hands over that pretty, pretty face, which had been buried in my vajayjay just minutes before. I’d come down those stairs wanting to see him pissed, but this was so much better.
“Eager, are we?” he asked. “Well,” he shrugged his shoulders and then slapped his thighs as he stood and hooked his thumbs under the band of his fuck-her-wear. “If that’s what you really want …”
Realization smacked me like a Mack truck and my eyes widened as my legs instinctively snapped closed. “No!” I shouted, louder than I probably needed to. “I’m … I’m still sore.”
It was an outright lie. I knew it. Double Agent Coochie knew it. And, more important, he knew it.
“Is that right? Hmm, well I could always make you,” he said, using that husky voice that made my insides dissolve into a puddle of goo.
He took a step toward me and lifted my chin to give me a soft kiss, and then another, and one more. His hands roamed over my shoulders, down my arms, and around my waist as I fought to keep my whorish thighs from opening up to invite him in.
Noah broke away and trailed kisses along my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear. “Soon,” he whispered as he cupped my face in his hands and took my bottom lip between his.
He pulled away and cleared his throat. “I have some work to do tonight if I’m going to be able to take you shopping tomorrow,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “You can do whatever you want in the meantime.”
With that, he walked away and left me sitting on the table, stunned to silence, in a postcoital haze, and wearing nothing but his shirt.
Noah
I had to get out of there.
Her taste and smell were everywhere, and she was sitting there in my goddamn shirt, looking sexier than she had any right to be. And to top it all off, she was offering me her fucking cherry.
Did she not have any clue whatsoever about the amount of restraint it took for me not to impale her with my cock right then and there?
But she had to have still been sore, and ramming my dick into her unabashedly wasn’t going to do anything but make that situation worse. Which also meant I’d have to wait even longer to do it again. And once I had her there was no way I was going to be able to keep myself from taking her over and over again, on every surface in the house. And my house, much like my cock, was pretty damn big.
Control. I had to maintain control and have a little more patience. All good things come to those who wait. Right?
I sat down at my desk and brought the fingers that I’d had inside her tight little pussy to my nose, inhaling her scent once again. Yes, it was a masochistic move, worse than any other sort of torture imaginable—other than maybe having to watch someone else fuck the shit out of her right in front of me—but I couldn’t resist the allure of eau de Delaine.
I suddenly became aware of the massive hard-on I had been sporting since she walked into the dining room wearing nothing but my fucking shirt. I groaned at the pain my rock-solid dick, twisted and mangled into a very uncomfortable position, was causing me at that very moment. I reached my hand into my underwear and winced as I pulled my cock out. I could’ve used it to drill a railroad tie.
I couldn’t very well let it stay like that. I’d never get any work done with that thing waving in my face, especially with Delaine’s taste still on my tongue and her smell still lingering on my fingers and in my whiskers.
I reached inside the top drawer of my desk and pulled out the bottle of lotion I had stashed there.
I squirted a generous amount into my palm and ran my hand up and down my shaft. I closed my eyes and imagined my million-dollar baby, still clad in my shirt, on her knees in front of me while I sat at the table. My thumb swept over the head of my dick and I hissed, picturing the flat part of her tongue making the motion instead as she scooped up the pre-come. She closed her eyes and moaned as she tasted me.
Her tongue swept across her bottom lip in anticipation of more while her greedy little mouth devoured my cock and swallowed me down. I could feel the back of her throat constrict around the tip of my dick as she moaned and bobbed her head up and down. My hand kept time with the imaginary Delaine’s movements. Faster and tighter I stroked myself, and I recalled the night I fucked her mouth, my cock sliding back and forth through her perfectly pink and pouty lips.
Imaginary Delaine looked up at me, and I squeezed the base of my dick tighter, bucking my hips into her mouth. My free hand grabbed on to the edge of my desk so hard I thought I heard the wood crack beneath my fingertips. But her eyes—blue and vibrant with life, so warm, so hungry—they never left mine. She sucked me hard and fast. Then she let my cock go with a pop of her mouth before she tossed her hair over her shoulder, licked from the bottom of my shaft to the top, and then took me in as deep as she could go with a moan of satisfaction.
I grabbed the back of her head and held her there as the heat of my release radiated through my body and my movements became jerky before I spilled my seed down her throat. When I milked myself of all the seed I had, I opened my eyes. She wasn’t there, and my hand was covered in my own spunk.