She lifted herself off me ...
... and the cool air hit the wetness on my cock.
Instead she slid backward. Down my legs till she was standing at the foot of the bed.
She dropped to her knees.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and her hand wrapped around the base of my cock.
Still slick. Still hard enough that the touch sent a jolt through me.
“Renee.” Her name came out rougher this time.
She didn’t look away from my face. Not for a second. Her tongue—pink and deliberate—touched the head.
Just once. A single, slow swipe along the underside.
The sound I made was not dignified.
“You know what I love?” Her voice was low, a register she usually reserved for middle-of-the-night confessions and hotel rooms. “I love tasting myself on you.”
Her lips parted. She took me into her mouth and I felt the heat of her, the slickness, the way her tongue flattened against the shaft.
She pulled back, slow, letting me see the way her lips clung. A string of saliva—or something more—bridged the gap for a heartbeat before breaking.
“And I love tasting you.” Her thumb traced a vein along the underside. Slow circles. “But together?”
She took me deeper this time. Her cheeks hollowed. The suction was exquisite and I felt my hips twitch before I could stop them—an involuntary, animal thing.
Her eyes never left mine.
Those hazel eyes. Now they were watching me from between my thighs with an intensity that made my chest feel too tight.
She pulled back again, letting me slide free.
“Together is my favorite.”
Then her mouth was on me again. Not taking me in this time—just lips. Just tongue. Tracing the ridge. Tasting. Exploring with the focus of someone cataloging every sensation.
“Jesus, Maya.” The words scraped out of me.
Her response was to take me deeper. To let her tongue do something complicated and devastating along the shaft. Her hand worked what her mouth couldn’t reach, a twisting grip that matched the rhythm of her head bobbing lower, then lower still.
I could feel the tension coiling. Already.
She must have sensed it because she pulled back—maddeningly slow—and pressed a kiss to the tip.
“You taste like us,” she said. “Like me and you mixed together.”
The specificity of that statement. The casual way she delivered it while her thumb traced lazy circles on my inner thigh.
“You’re going to kill me.”
Her smile widened. “What a way to go.”
She lowered her head again, but this time she took her time. Kissing along the length. Letting her tongue trace patterns I couldn’t name. Every touch was deliberate. Every breath she exhaled against damp skin made my stomach muscles jump.
There was only this. Renee's mouth. Renee's eyes. The wet sounds of her working me over with a patience that bordered on worship.
Her left hand slid up my stomach. Fingertips tracing the line of hair below my navel. Nails dragging just enough to leave pink lines that would fade within minutes.
She took me deep again. Held me there. Swallowed.
The pressure around my cock was obscene and perfect and I felt my jaw go slack.
When she pulled back, gasping softly through her nostrils, a mix of saliva and her own earlier arousal dripped down her chin. She caught it with one finger and pushed it back into her mouth while watching my face.
“God,” she said, mimicking my earlier tone. “I love the way you look at me when I do this.”
“Like you can’t decide if you want to stop me or let me finish.”
“Let you finish,” I managed. “Definitely let you finish.”
She laughed—that same exhale-through-the-nose sound—and lowered her mouth again.
This time was different. This time her pace quickened. Her hand worked in tandem with her lips and her eyes stayed locked on mine and the sounds she was making—small, satisfied hums that vibrated through my cock—told me she was enjoying this almost as much as what had come before.
The coil tightened. My hands left the sheets and found her hair—not gripping, not directing, just touching. Feeling the rhythm of her.
She moaned in response. The vibration tipped me closer to the edge.
Her hands tightened on my thighs.
Her eyes never left my face. Not for a single second. Watching me come apart with an expression that was equal parts hunger and love and satisfaction at a job well begun.
Renee's lips sealed tighter, her tongue pressing flat, and she swallowed around me as I spilled across her tongue. The sensation ripped through me in waves—hot and blinding and somehow more intense than the first time, sharper, aimed directly at some nerve I hadn’t known I possessed.
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t so much as flinch.
She licked me clean. Slowly. Methodically. While I lay there gasping at the ceiling, my chest heaving, my fingers still tangled in her hair.
Only when there was nothing left did she release me, pressing one final kiss to the tip before sitting back on her heels.
Her chin glistened. She wiped it with the back of her hand and grinned at me.
“There,” she said. “Now you’re clean.”
She crawled up onto the bed beside me, fitting herself against my side, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder. One finger traced idle patterns through the sweat on my chest.
“Next time,” she murmured, her breath warm against my skin, “I want you to watch me do it in the mirror.”
The fan ticked. My heartbeat thundered. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I understood with absolute clarity that whatever door had just been opened between us, it wasn’t closing anytime soon.
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