Page 17 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
He slapped the side of my hip, the pain making my inner muscles clench. “Don’t stop,” he ordered.
His mouth replaced his fingers at my breasts, licking and sucking. I kept riding him. It hurt, what he was doing, but I knew I needed the pain and he seemed to know it too.
I hovered on the brink. Then he bit down, lightly at first and then harder. Too much. It hurt too much. I couldn’t take it. My eyes fell shut as I shuddered through my orgasm.
When I became aware again, I was enfolded in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. I looked up at him, expecting to see smugness or arousal, but instead he looked troubled.
Shit, I’d done something wrong. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For…doing that. It’s your turn.”
I reached for his zipper, but his hand stayed me. “Wait.”
Panic caught in my throat. He didn’t want me. My skin crawled with shame.
But I could fix this. I’d make him want me. “Come on, baby. Put your hard cock in my mouth.”
I licked my lips, and his fingers tightened around my wrist. “Please,” I said. “Give it to me. I’ll make it feel good.”
I tried to tug my hand away. He opened his fingers one by one. Gratified to have my hand back, I unzipped his jeans. I’d told the truth. Whatever he felt or didn’t feel for me, I’d make his cock feel good.
His cock sprung out, hard and eager. I grasped it at the base and pulled. The softness of the skin was always a shock, too soft for something so hard and scary.
Sliding to the floor, I licked the tip, that faint salty flavor a tease for us both.
“Suck it,” he said. My eyes flew to his and found them hot and insistent. I smiled. He’d certainly gotten over his reluctance. But I wouldn’t gloat. I took his cock into my mouth, slid it on my tongue, and back toward my throat. When I pulled back, my body sucked in a deep breath, knowing breaths wouldn’t come freely for a while.
I edged him deeper with each long suck, craving more even while I fought down a gag. This was what I wanted. A cock was made for fucking. Putting it in my mouth wasn’t something that came naturally. I didn’t have teenage dreams about being tenderly face fucked. But I did it anyway, with relish, because it felt good for him. It’s a special kind of gift, debasement.
My jaw ached, but I welcomed the pain—I was pleasing him. I worked him harder with my tongue and lips and hands. His hands came up and grabbed my hair. Yes. He pulled me to him as his hips rocked up, less deeply but faster. I opened my mouth wider in acceptance, straining against the stiffness. He came with a grunt, spurting salty warmth into my throat, his hands stroking mindlessly through my hair.
He hadn’t yanked my hair or choked me on his cock, but it was still good. I reveled in the sight of his sated expression. All that buildup, not just the blowjob or making out, but even the dinner—all so that I could give him this moment of peace. Without opening his eyes, he reached for me and pulled me up into the crook of his arm. I curled into his side, shutting my eyes against the sight of his soft cock lying outside his jeans, too raw a reminder of what I’d just done.
He sat up and straightened his clothes. I did the same, suddenly wary.
His face turned away, but not before his eyes darkened. “Allie…I have to go soon.”
I looked down. “Oh.”
“Hey. I just have to take care of some business. Nothing bad.” His finger stroked my cheek and lifted my chin back to him. “That was great.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
He turned at the door. Pulling me to him with his hand behind my head, he kissed me, lingering. “I’m going to see you again soon,” he said against my lips.
My lips curved against his. “Whatever you say.”
“Damn straight.” But his eyes were twinkling as he shut the door.
This entire night worked for me. I’d had a great time but wasn’t ready for the implications of a sleepover. And I got to pick up Bailey while she was still awake, our dinner being so much earlier than a club visit. That may not have been everyone’s idea of a great date, but to me it was almost like heaven.
Except for the cough. It was only a small, dry cough when I picked Bailey up from Shelly’s apartment, but it quickly progressed into a full-fledged mortar explosion, complete with phlegmy shrapnel. As if that wasn’t scary enough, her fever spiked from a low-grade 99 up to 102 degrees even with medicine.
