When my panties soon followed, following the same steps as the pants, he stopped and rested my foot against his shoulder.
Then leaned forward until his mouth was only a few scant inches away from my pubic bone.
"I have to taste you first," he growled.
And he did moments later, spreading the lips of my sex wide with his fingers and leaning forward to trail his tongue down the seam of my sex.
I shuddered and reached for his hair to keep me steady, liking that I now had something to hold on to.
"Y-y-you taste better, too," he growled, then went in for another lick.
///
I wanted to cry out when I heard that stutter. That was the stutter that made me fall irrevocably in love with him.
And another. And another. Until he reached the number seven.
That was how I came, hard, on his face. He had one arm curled around my left thigh, pulling my sex apart, while his tongue did all the work.
The moment I came, he growled into my pussy, and I seriously saw stars.
There wasn't much that this man could do to me that he hadn't already done, but every time he ground his face into me, and his beard would touch delicate places that had never felt a full beard before, I realized that I would beg him to keep it forever.
It was amazing.
The sensations that it left me with, some sweet, others a burn, caused me to realize that I would seriously freak out if he ever contemplated shaving it.
My body, wrung out from his ministrations, slid limply down the wall. My foot stayed where it was on top of his shoulder, meaning that my leg was straight up in the air despite my new position.
"I kind of like this," he said, trailing one lone finger through the trail of wetness he'd left behind.
I shivered.
"You'd have your face touching the wall right now if you took me this way," I panted. "And," I glanced at the clock. "You have less than ten minutes until you need to go. So either you hurry, or you go without."
He grinned, and then I found myself flying through the air. His hands on my hips lifted me up high, and he stood to his full height as he carried me like I weighed no more than a small child straight to the bed. He laid me down, following my progression with his own body, fitting the seam of his jeans against my wet core.
"You'll get yourself messy," I told him, uncaring.
He shrugged.
"Maybe," he said. "But honestly, having your pussy juices drying over the jeans that cover my cock doesn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would."
I licked my suddenly dry lips.
"You could just put your cock in me," I told him. "And save your pants."
His grin was contagious as he lifted up and pushed both his jeans and underwear down to just about knee level.
His shirt shortly followed.
When he came back, I realized that his hand had a large black gun in it, which he put on top of the pillow next to my face.
"That's so romantic," I teased.
Though I knew my man. He wouldn't be without it. If he didn't have that deadly piece of hardware on him, he had it next to him.
When we were sleeping, he had it in the floor safe next to the bed. When we were in the car for a long ride, he had it under the steering wheel-even though according to him that was illegal for the everyday citizen. If we were out and about, and he was wearing anything except sweat pants, that gun was on his person.
And I couldn't find it in me to care. Not even when it dug into me uncomfortably or was placed next to my face.
Mostly because in a few seconds, I wouldn't care where it was.
Nope, not one bit.
Especially when he took his hard length into his hand and started to pump it against my clit. Each tug of his hand had his cock head bumping into my clit, and I was squirming as I tried to get closer to him.
He had a fist planted in the bed next to my shoulder, and his muscles bulged as he leaned over me and masturbated against me.
"Tunnel Morrison, if you don't fucking take me, I'm going to take you!" I growled.
His lips quirked up into a grin.
"Oh, yeah?" he asked arrogantly. "What makes you think you could do anything to me that I didn't want you to do?"
My lips quirked up into a confident smile.
"I could cry," I said.
His eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."
He continued to pump his cock, and it was now a ruddy red that looked angry that it wasn't getting what it wanted. A bead of pre-come slid out of the slit at the tip, rolling down the rounded head of his cock to where his hand was fisted around himself.
My mouth watered to lick that drop off, but I stayed where I was.