Page 40 of Rafferty's Rules
This provocative goddess takes a step toward me, her hips swaying as I tighten my grip on the sink behind.
Come on, fucker, smack down those lustful thoughts. Tell her that’s not who you are anymore.
Her dark lashes flutter languidly as she reaches out, her fingers hot points of contact searing my skin. She reaches up on her toes, pressing her soft lips to the base of my neck. It’s such a tender touch—and a decoy—as those nimble fingers drag down my torso, heading straight for my cock. My knees almost buckle as she takes me in her hand and begins to jack me slowly.
‘Tell me what you like,’ my goddess whispers as she pulls the elastic down, spanning her tiny hand against my hip bone. ‘Let me make this good for you.’
But I don’t answer—I can’t, not as she drops to her knees, taking my shorts with her. She holds me in two hands, and goddammit, I feel like a ritual sacrifice as she stares at my cock, her mouth open in a softO.
‘Why would you not want to give this to me?’ she whispers, almost to herself. I suffer a moment of panic—don’t judge, I’ve been with some crazies lately—but before I can do anything, she kisses the head. A lingering kiss. A wet kiss that engulfs my fat crown.
‘Holy...’
The muscles of my thighs tighten to steel, my hands holding the sink so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. She runs her lips down the length of me and, for an encore, swirls her tongue around my glands and slit. The soft brush of her hair at my abs makes them tighten, my jaw clenched so tight because nothing ever felt as good as this. Not as she begins to use her tongue on me in slow slides and deft flicks. She tongues me as though I’m her favourite flavour of ice cream before inhaling my head and working me deeply again. Moaning. Sighing. Driving me to the brink.
‘Lissa.’ Her name is a supplication.You win. I give.Because what she has in mind is torture, pure and simple, and she is, hands down, the sexiest thing that has ever lived.
‘Harder...’ The word slides into a groan, one that she repeats, one that echoes around the head of my cock, making it leak. I gather the length of her hair over her shoulder, then into my fist, staring down at her mouth stretched wide as she kneels on my kitchen floor. Her lashes lowered, her tongue laves and licks. And it takes all my strength not to ram myself in.To hold her hair tight in my fist. To fuck her face.
‘Yes, like that. Jesus Christ, I’m coming.’
Cheeks hollowed, she moves a little faster, sliding me deeply in and out of her hot, wet mouth in an invitation that would make a man weep.
And then it’s all over but the crying.
Everything blurs, heat and electricity shooting through my limbs as I cradle her in both hands and hit the back of her throat with lashes of cum.
I feel like I’ve run a marathon, not had a blow job or even a mind-blowing blow job, as I lower myself to where she sits on the quilt spread across my kitchen floor. I don’t have words to explain to her how good that was—how much I needed the release—as my head falls to her shoulder where I pause.
‘You’re a pain in my arse,’ I whisper against her skin, making her shiver.
‘I think the words you’re looking for arethank you, Lissa, you were right. We don’t have to worry; we just have to have sex.’ She squeals as I roll her onto her back, caging her in with my arms and legs.
‘It’s your own fault if my muscles turn to dust, and I squash you.’ My complaints rasp against her skin as I kiss her neck, dragging my morning stubble over her shoulder. She giggles as I continue my torture, avoiding the heavy shit from earlier. The battle was hard fought, and she knows she’s won.
‘Hey,’ she says suddenly, taking my face in her hands. ‘That thing you said earlier about me not being a slut.’
‘I’m suddenly concerned where this is going. For the record, I would never call you a slut, not unless you were into that kind of thing.’
‘Are you . . . into that kind of thing?’
I look down into her melted chocolate eyes, trying to guess which answer she’d prefer to hear. As I open my mouth, still unsure of the answer, I find I go with honesty.
‘Sometimes. It can heighten the moment if the woman is into it.’
‘Huh.’ The noise is contemplative before she adds, ‘Maybe we could try it sometime?’ From her tone, she might be talking about a new coffee blend or a flavour of ice cream. ‘Don’t freak out, okay? But I haven’t got a lot of experience.’
I start to laugh because a, she knew what she was doing with my dick and b, who cares how much experience she’s had?
‘Don’t laugh,’ she says doing so herself, though I think that’s more to do with how she’s digging her nimble fingers into my ribs.
‘I wouldn’t dare laugh at you, bite-sized. You’re fucking fearless.’
‘Bite-sized?’ she squeals, delighted. Or maybe that’s in response to my tickling payback.
‘Yeah, because you’re like a snack—a tiny portion.’
‘One that never satisfies?’ she asks archly.
