She moves lower, and I start to pant. Her tongue licks at my abs and swirls around my navel and I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth. And when that wet, pink tongue dips below the waistband on my briefs, I almost lose it.
I need a distraction. So I ask stupid questions that I already know the answers to.
“Have you ever done this before?”
She giggles against my skin. “No.”
And I bask in hearing it out loud. In the knowledge of being her first.
Her only.
It feels so greedy, so fucking possessive—mine, mine, every inch of her is mine. If she could read my thoughts she’d probably call me sexist—maybe misogynistic—but I don’t care.
It’s awesome. And if thinking that makes me a pig, well . . . oink, oink.
“But I’ve read about it. Some romance scenes are very . . . detailed.”
When she tugs on the waistband, I lift my hips—she skims off my briefs in one swoop and my freed cock taps against my stomach.
“Detailed how?” I grind out, trying not to lose my fucking mind.
She gets comfy on her elbows, adjusts her glasses, and gazes at my dick like it’s something to be figured out. It enjoys the notice, thickening and twitching, attention whore that it is. Sarah grips me at the base and brings her mouth closer—close enough that I can feel her warm breath on me.
“Well, the books say this is the most sensitive part, especially this little ridge here.”
She swirls her tongue around the tip, then licks at the ridge in question. My skull digs into the pillow and it’s so good it’s almost painful.
“That’s true,” I moan.
Then she kisses up and down the shaft, talking as she goes.
“And, they always mention massaging the testicles, how that makes it better.” Her voice turns teasing. “Should I test that theory?”
Cheeky girl
All I can do is nod. And then I whimper when she cups my sack in her hand, causing hot, weighted pleasure to light every nerve in my body.
“What do they call it?” I wonder. I have no idea why. “Can’t see Jane Austen writing the word cock.”
It’s possible I just want to hear the word from Sarah’s lips.
“Depends on the book,” she says, licking me from base to tip, swirling around the full, aching head, before licking her way back down with her hot, wet tongue. And then she does it again.
“Not Austen, but some books call a cock, a cock.”
So bloody good
“Others call it a rod or a sword . . . and the woman is the sheath.”
“Sounds painful.”
Sarah giggles, and then slips the head of my dick into the wet cavern of her mouth and I groan.
She removes her mouth, stroking me slowly.
“And this,” she brushes her thumb across the tip, rubbing at the pre-cum, “is sometimes called the ‘pearl of desire,’ and they always say it tastes sweet or salty.” And then she fucking licks me. “Mmm . . . it is a bit salty.”
And I’m gone.
“Take me in your mouth, Sarah. All the way. Suck it hard. And fast. Now.”
And she does just that. Envelops me in her tight, wet mouth, sucking and laving—wrapping her little hand around what she can’t take, pumping hard.
“That’s good, so good, love.”
Gently, I cup the back of her head, holding her steady, and then I thrust up between her full, hot lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”
When the pleasure hits, intense and quick, I pull out of Sarah’s mouth. Then I cover her hand with mine, showing her how to stroke fast and tight in the end. And with a guttural groan, I come and come on Sarah’s hand and my stomach, thick and hot.
When I can, I lift my hand and motion her closer. I kiss her lips then, soft and tender.
Then she leans back, smiling proudly. “I think blow jobs are fantastic.”
And it would be adorable . . . if it weren’t so hot.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear it.” I choke out.
She dabs her finger in the come on my stomach, rubbing it between her thumb and her forefinger. And it makes me think of all the places I want to come on her.
“Next time, I’d like to try swallowing, Henry.”
Next time, she’s probably going to kill me.
And there’s another way I’d definitely go.
MY AND HENRY’S RELATIONSHIP GOES wonderfully . . . for three days. That’s when I make a mistake, a crucial error in judgment: I leave my room. While he’s filming. While he’s filming with other women, including my sister.
It begins in the dining room, where Henry’s having breakfast with all three of the remaining contestants—Penny, Laura, and Cordelia. Henry’s in a rowdy good mood, smiling and laughing . . . and teasing with them all. And that’s how it starts. There’s a bitter taste in the back of my throat as I think, He should be joking with me, and only with me.