Mister O(51)

“Tell me how you like blow jobs so I can give you what I was fantasizing about,” she says as she sits up, nudges my thighs, and then kneels between my legs. She doesn’t let go of my cock the whole time, and I’m really fucking thankful for her commitment to the task at hand.

I groan as her thumb catches a bead of liquid from the head of my dick, then spreads that over me, mixing her arousal with mine. It’s so hot what she’s doing. Makes thinking hard. “I like a lot of tongue,” I say, trying to collect my thoughts. “I like it when you wrap your lips nice and tight, but lick as you move up and down.”

“Mmm. That sounds delicious,” she whispers on an upstroke, her eyes blazing with desire as she watches me.

“I like a lot of suction, if you can.”

She draws an excited breath. “And deep? Do you like it deep?”

Electricity radiates in my body with that word. Deep. “Fuck, yeah. I want to hit the back of your throat,” I groan.

Her hand keeps busy, moving faster now, like a tight, hot tunnel. I thrust up into her fist, gritting my teeth as desire climbs inside me.

“And what about this?” she asks, then brings her other hand to my balls and cups, playing with them.

“Love that,” I grit out. “Love it when you lick them, too.”

Her hand flies faster, head to base and back. “But you don’t like hand jobs?”

“Now I do. I really fucking do,” I say, groaning as I fuck her hand. I might have to reconsider my position on mouths being better, because Harper’s hand is blowing my mind. But when my eyes land on those red, naughty lips of hers, I’m sure what I want. “Know what makes a hand job really great?”

“What?” she asks, her voice so damn eager.

I grab the back of her head, meet her gaze, and tell her. “When you put your mouth on it.”

In an instant, her lips wrap around the head of my dick, and I moan. A long, hungry moan that feels like it lasts forever. She follows my instructions, making her lips tight, and flattening her tongue. She takes me deep in one swift motion. Pleasure crackles all through my body, barreling down my spine, racing through my veins, and lighting me up everywhere.

It’s like a sneak attack. An ambush orgasm. I don’t even have time to give her a heads up. I just come hard in her throat in mere seconds.

“Fuck, Harper,” I grunt, and she sucks me tight until she swallows it all. She gives me a long, lingering lick, then lets go with her mouth. But bless her wicked heart, she keeps her hand on my dick, and gives one last stroke, making my whole body jerk as I groan once more. She grins, looking like the cat who ate the canary’s whole clan.

I drag a hand through my hair, words coming out choppy as my body hums with the aftereffects of the best hand job with a blow job finish I’ve ever had. “Or . . . yeah . . . that works, too. That’s another way I like blow jobs,” I deadpan.

She clears her throat. “Does that mean I can call you Prince Come Quickly?”

I smack her ass, chuckling. “I won’t be earning that title again. Besides, you got me all worked up with those magic hands of yours.”

She makes an abracadabra gesture.

We both laugh even harder, and she snuggles against me. Damn, this feels pretty fantastic, too, Harper curled up by my side. We stay like that for a few minutes. When her stomach growls, I brush a hand across her soft belly. “Let me take you out to eat.”

She says yes, and dinner out with Harper seems a perfect way to top a damn near perfect evening.





21





“We did the order all wrong.” Harper shakes her head and sighs heavily.

“The food order?” I ask as the waitress walks away, her notepad in hand. We’re at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from my house. It’s busy, even on a Sunday night, as waiters scurry by, arms laden with plates of pasta.

“No. The activity schedule,” Harper says, running her foot up my leg. She’s flirty, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this affectionate side of her. She’s across from me at a table for two. The restaurant is dimly lit, with candles perched on red and white checkered tablecloths.

“Ah. You mean we had dessert before dinner?”

“Yes.”

“We’re unconventional. Mixing it up,” I say, as Harper reaches for a slice of bread from the basket. Loose strands from her high ponytail frame her cheeks. After we cleaned up, she changed once more, pulling on a tight green sweater and jeans, along with short high-heeled boots. As we walked here, the struggle not to check out her ass the entire time was real. Sorry to report I received an F on that test.

Wait. Not sorry at all. The view was worth it.