Page 31 of Rust and Bloom

I just watch her. I hold her up. I be the thing between her and the floor.

When she's done, she settles herself on the teak bench facin' me. Just lookin' up. Smilin' this quiet, private smile that only belongs to me. She don't say nothin'. I don't say nothin'. We're past words in here, past all the machinery of language that people use to keep distance between themselves.

She doesn't suck me off. She wraps her hand around me instead. Just her hand. And there's somethin' about that—the deliberateness of it, the choice of it—that hits harder than almost anything else could. Her eyes stay locked on mine the whole time. Not lookin' away. Not hidin'. Just watchin' me like she's cataloguin' every single thing my face does, storin' it up somewhere safe.

Her grip is fuckin' tight. And she starts with slow, long, easy strokes from root to tip, and every single word I've ever known drains right out of me. Gone.

In their place comes a groan. A low moan that starts somewhere in my chest and works its way out whether I want it to or not, and my hips angle forward on their own like they got a better idea than the rest of me, and my fingers twist into her wet hair.

Her grip tightens on the upstroke and I make a sound I'm not proud of. The involuntary kind that comes up from somewhere deep.

For a moment, I imagine bringing her mouth toward me. Imagine her lips parting, her tongue eager. Imagine the tip of my cock slippin' past them. The heat of her throat callin' me home.

I shake my head to clear the fantasy, on the verge of losing control.

Savannah knows it too. Her eyes track my face. She doesn't tease me with that look. She don't gloat, either. Nah. She just watches me. Like she's takin' inventory of every single thing I can't stop my body from doin'.

My hand is still in her hair. Not directin' her. Not pressurin' her toward anythin'. Just restin' there, fingers curled loose against her scalp, like I need somethin' to hold onto or I might come apart at the seams.

She works me slow as the steam builds around our stillness. The only movement is the deliberate and slow pump of her palm on my shaft and the steady stream of water comin' from the ceilin'.

She jerks me deliberately slow. Her thumb sweepin' across the head on every stroke, rotatin' just slightly, pressin' into the ridge where I'm most sensitive, and my whole body responds like she's got a fist around my spine instead of my cock.

My breathing goes to shit as my jaw locks in place as this woman dismantles every wall I've ever put up with just her hand.

Savannah.

She adjusts her angle, twistin' her wrist on the pull-down, and my head drops back.

The sound I make this time is worse. Lower. Rougher.

She speeds up. Just barely. The kind of change you'd miss if you weren't payin' attention, but I'm payin' attention to nothin' else, and my hips roll forward without permission, pushin' into her fist, lookin' for more pressure, more friction, more of whatever this woman is willin' to give me.

She gives it by leanin' forward and the next thing I know, the fantasy I was havin' thirty seconds ago is playin' out in real life.

Her lips part and the tip of my cock slides past them.

Fuck.

Every single coherent thought I've ever had evacuates my skull in the space of one second. Gone. Just—gone. Replaced by nothin' but want.

Her tongue presses up against the underside of the head and I feel it everywhere. Down my thighs. Up my spine. Behind my fuckin' eyes.

My grip tightens in her hair as she takes me apart.

She sinks down so goddamn slow. An inch at a time, her lips dragging tight around my shaft, her tongue doing somethin' deliberate and methodical that I can't fully understand because my brain has stopped workin' in complete sentences.

She takes me deeper as my free hand finds the shower wall and I press my palm flat against the tile like I need it to keep me upright.

The heat.

Jesus Christ, the heat of her.

My cock angles toward the back of her throat and she just takes it. Not a single fuckin' moment of hesitation. Her hands grip my thighs and she holds herself there, swallowing around me once, and the sound that comes out of me is ugly, and honest, and doesn't belong to anyone who ever pretended to be in control of anything.

Water drums down across my shoulders as the cloud of steam thickens to the point where it's heavy. And Savannah Ashby slips down on her knees, lookin' up at me with my cock buried in her throat like I'm her king, and she takes me as deep as she can.

Her gag reflex kicks in. Just once before she gets a hold of it. I give her all the time she needs. I let her work it out. I let my thick, hard cock sit in the back of her throat as the muscles constrict around me.