"Caitlyn, Caitlyn," he chanted. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he wasn't going to last much longer.
She found a rhythm of suck and swallow as she rose and fell over him. His pleasure quickly built to uncontainable levels.
"Gonna come," he warned.
She pulled back and wrapped both hands around his shaft, pumping him hard as he came.
"Come hard for me, Owen. I want to watch you explode."
Her thumbs stroked the ridge on the underside of his cock as she jerked him harder and faster. Harder and faster. Until he didn't have a choice but to let go.
"Oh God, Caitlyn," he groaned as hard spasms gripped the base of his cock and his fluids erupted-hot cum splattering over his belly.
He tried to open his eyes, to catch her reaction as he spent himself, but his entire body was locked in the throes of ecstasy, and he'd lost voluntary control of his eyelids.
"That's what I wanted," she whispered.
He shuddered as his orgasm subsided, and he panted, floating on pleasure. Eventually he was able to open his eyes again.
"You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen when you come," Caitlyn said. She dipped her fingers into the mess he'd made on his belly. "And you didn't call someone else's name that time."
So that was still on her mind? Hadn't he proven to her that he was interested in only her?
She lifted her hand to her mouth and licked his cum from her fingertips.
"I think it's time I make you come so hard you scream my name," he said. Just as soon as he could find the strength to move.
Chapter Ten
Caitlyn gasped in surprise when Owen moved suddenly. She'd thought he was completely spent, but apparently she'd underestimated his stamina. He yanked her towel free and tossed it aside. He knelt behind her and shoved her face into the sofa cushions before lifting her hips so that she was on her knees in front of him, her ass in the air. She raised her head to look at him, and a smack on her butt cheek caused her to gasp in surprise.
"Keep your face in that cushion," Owen commanded.
Normally she didn't like to be told what to do, but she was pretty sure she was going to like what he had in store for her if she obeyed. She dropped her face into the sofa cushion and allowed him to arrange her body as he wanted. He spread her legs a bit more and then drew his fingers through the wetness between her parted pussy lips. Sucking him off had really turned her on. She'd never done that to anyone but Charles, and her ex had never shown his appreciation for her skills the way Owen had. She'd never seen a guy come so much. Just thinking about how his milky fluids had erupted from his body in arching spurts made her twitch her hips to try to alleviate the throbbing between her thighs.
"Your pussy looks incredibly inviting, Caitlyn," Owen said. "It's so swollen, I know it'll grip my cock just right if I slide into you."
He was staring at it? She flushed and pressed her face more securely into the cushion.
"While I wait for my libido to catch up with my dirty thoughts, I'm going to teach you a lesson."
"A lesson?" she gasped, her words muffled by the cushion. Was he going to spank her? Yes, please.
"There are three exceptional characteristics that distinguish the fingers of a guitarist," he said.
She lifted her head to ask what, and he shoved her face back into the cushion.
"Keep your face in that cushion, Caitlyn, and just listen."
She nodded, rubbing her nose against the thick fabric.
"The first exceptional characteristic is the calluses that develop on their fingertips. They're thick and a little rough."
He rubbed his fingertips over her clit, and her body jerked.
"Do you feel them?"
He rubbed her repeatedly and yes, she felt them. They were so much more stimulating than the soft fingers of an academic. She groaned and opened her legs an inch wider, hoping to encourage him to continue.
"The second exceptional characteristic is the speed at which a guitarist can move his fingers."
The motion of his fingers against her clit became mind-bogglingly swift. Within seconds her pussy clenched and the spasms of a hard orgasm gripped her core. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, oh, oh."
"Oh-wen," he supplied, still stroking her with maddening speed and precision.
"Owen," she echoed. "Owen, Owen. What's the third thing?" The anticipation was killing her.
"I'm glad you asked. A good guitarist often has exceptionally long fingers. It gives him a better range, especially when playing solos."
He did have long fingers, but did bass guitarists play solos?