Page 48 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

He came up on his elbows to watch me. “Going to suck me?”

“Yeah.”

I held his gaze as I leaned in and licked the head. He let out a tiny gasp. “Fuck. That’s hot.”

“I’m only just getting started.” I tongued the slit, drawing more sounds from him. “Have I ever told you that—?”

“This had better not be a historical fact.”

“You said it was cute.”

“It was then. Now? Not so much.”

“Have I ever told you…” I paused deliberately, daring him to interrupt again. He didn’t. “…that I don’t have a gag reflex?”

His interest sharpened instantly. “Really?”

“Really.”

I proved it by swallowing him to the root. His response was half laugh, half moan. For the next however many minutes, I showed him every trick I had: tonguing the tip, rubbing him against the inside of my cheek, licking him from taint to tip, and massaging his balls. And, of course, deep throating him just like I’d promised.

I loved giving blow jobs. It was kind of my thing.

By the time I pulled off with a pop, Baxter was slick with sweat and right on the edge of coming. I crawled up over him, kissing my way back to his mouth while making sure to keep any pressure off his cock.

“You,” he breathed, “are really good at that.”

I shrugged, but there was no holding back my pleased smile. It widened when Baxter rolled us both and spent some time giving my body the same attention I had his. He didn’t suck me. Instead, he spat into his hand and wrapped it around both our cocks. It was a little awkward, but no less pleasurable for it. We fell into a rhythm, gasping into each other’s mouths between kisses.

As frotting went—and this wasn’t my first rodeo—it ranked at the top. Baxter was easily the most sinuous and enthusiastic partner I’d ever had. That realization dragged an unwelcome thought to the surface at the worst possible time. Carl had been going through the motions. Buttering me up. Telling me what I wanted to hear. Playing me like a fiddle. Whereas this—this was real. This was something rarer. Something precious.

Or maybe that was the impending orgasm talking.

When Baxter’s wrist cramped, I took over. My hips moved faster, blood molten in my veins. Sweat—mine and his—eased the way. It made for good lube. Or maybe it was pre-cum. Either way, I was on the brink, and from the sounds Baxter was making, so was he.

My heart was pounding hard enough that I was either going to come or pass out. Hopefully, it would be the former.

“I'm going to come,” I warned.

I had barely finished speaking before Baxter’s back arched and he moaned, hot cum spilling across my hand.

He collapsed back on the bed, and I followed, straddling him. Using his cum as lube, I stroked myself over his heaving chest. It only took a few pulls, my breathing ragged as my cum mixed with the sweat on his skin.

I was still admiring the mess we’d made when he tugged me down beside him. I went willingly, curling against him in a way I’d never wanted with Carl.

Once my breathing slowed and my legs felt like they might hold me, I grabbed a damp cloth from the bathroom and cleaned us both up before climbing back into bed.

“Such a gentleman,” Baxter teased. It was the first thing he’d said since coming.

“I try,” I said honestly. “I don’t always succeed, but I try.”

“You do just fine.” Baxter rolled over onto his stomach, head propped on his arms, and eyes closed. I reached out tentatively, resting a hand on his flank. When he didn’t balk, I gained confidence, tracing a line down his muscled back, over the dip of his spine, to the firm curve of his arse. It was a travesty that after admiring it earlier I hadn’t given it the attention it deserved during sex. “Number one,” I said. “Not top three.”

“Flatterer.”

“Just honest.”

He gave a contented little wiggle that wormed him deeper into the mattress. “Give me an hour,” he said, “and we can go again.”