Текст книги "Bad Reputation"

Автор книги: K. B. Nelson

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

13

I was weak, and I fell for his cock like a hooker after a week-long dry spell. For two years, I thought about last night. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined it would end up how it did. In my dreams, I would ride him so fast and so hard that he would beg for seconds, of which he would be denied.

Reality has a bad habit of crushing dreams. As fate would have it, it is now I whom must beg for a second chance. Whether he likes it or not, he will fall in love with me and I will crush his heart, leaving his reputation destroyed in the process.

I mustn’t lose sight of the end game.

I storm past the busy secretary in the office, and past an elderly woman cradling a stack of papers in her arms. The scent of coffee and donuts permeates through the air, masking a stench that rises from the ancient and beaten carpets. I suppose there wasn’t enough money left from my tuition to install new floors.

At the end of the hall is his office, with a nice little engraved silver plate that I somehow managed to miss before: PROFESSOR J. MOON

I reach for the knob and rip the door open.

Jensen looks up to me from his desk. A pair of reading glasses sits on the dock of his nose. They look surprisingly good on him, but that’s not why I have come all the way across campus today. I tend to avoid campus for the most part, going so far as to register all online classes, except for my marketing course, for my final semester.

“What are you doing here?” The tone of his voice would indicate he’s annoyed. This in turn annoys me.

“Reporting for duty,” I say with a forced smile and retrieve a red pen from my purse. I have no idea what I’m going to use it for, but there are a few notes I would love to scribble across a few student’s tests.

He looks down and flips a paper over on his desk. “That’s not necessary, remember?”

“Like it was yesterday.” It was yesterday. “I want to be here.”

“You’re working another angle,” he says, continuing to make a conscious effort to ignore me.

“I promise I’m not.”

“Tigers really do change their stripes, eh?”

“Maybe,” I say, purse my lips and shrug, “that tiger was always wearing a mask.”

His attention shifts to me, and I catch a glimpse of those beautiful, oceanic eyes. “That’s rather poetic.”

“I wasn’t even trying.” I smile innocently, and convincingly, knowing full well I was up all night thinking of that line.

“I hate poetry.” He goes back to work, striking red lines of ink through a typed page.

“Jesus Christ,” I snap and throw the pen at his head. “What the hell is wrong with you?’

“You’re not here because you want to work.” He slides the glasses off the edge of his nose and slams them onto the desk. “You’re here for something else entirely, but once again, I can’t figure it out.”

“I had fun last night.”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over each other. “It was a blast.” Sarcastic or serious, I feel him slipping out of my fingers.

“Why are you so guarded?” I ask with a shake of my head.

He looks me dead in the eyes. “Why are you?”

“Who says I’m guarded?”

“Are we going to play a game of twenty questions, or are you going to tell me why you’re actually here?”

Being honest isn’t on my to-do list. “Did last night mean anything to you?”

“I haven’t been laid in two weeks, so it meant the world,” he says with such conviction that I almost believe him.

“I think we understand each other more than you’re willing to admit.”

“That’s not exactly true, is it?” He pushes his chair back and stands. “I mean, you know why I’m here but I don’t know why you’re here.”

“You’re working.”

“See, you understand me.” He maneuvers around the edge of the desk and approaches me cautiously. “Now, open yourself up a little,” he speaks with his fingers aimed toward my legs. I can’t discern if it’s intentional sexual innuendo, or if he just needs to be more careful with his fingers.

“Fine,” I say exasperated. “Will you go on a date with me?”

“I don’t date students.”

“No, you just fuck them,” I yell about a millisecond before realizing we’re standing in the middle of his office during the morning rush.

He throws his arm past me and slams the door shut. “Someone could hear you,” he scolds me and pushes me lightly against the chair adjacent to his. I lose my footing and fall backward into it. “You don’t know me, Apple.”

“Isn’t that the point of going on a date?”

“I go on dates to fuck,” he says, bringing down the level of his voice and zeroing his focus in on me.

“Why are you the leader of an abstinence group? I’m only asking because it has come to my attention that you are, in fact, a sexual deviant.”

He shrugs and a smile crawls across his lips. “I get paid a stipend.”

“Is it really worth dealing with those losers every Sunday?”

“They’re not losers, Apple. They’re different. You should respect that.”

“I don’t have to respect shit.”

“You’re really selling yourself here.”

I throw my hands to the air on both sides of my head. “I am who I am,” I say with an uncaring shrug.

“Do you have plans this weekend?”

“Wait a damn minute,” I bark and jump to my feet, wagging a finger in his face. “You can’t turn around and ask me on a date when you still haven’t answered me.”

“Who said anything about a date?” He parks his sexy ass on the edge of the desk. “Again, what are you doing this weekend?”

“Sitting at home petting my cat, most likely.” I don’t have a cat, although I’m sure he would make a joke about my pussy if I did.

“How about I pick you up at noon Friday?”

“That depends where we’re going,”

“Don’t plan on being home all weekend.”

“You can’t just say that and not tell me where, or what we’re doing and expect me to say yes.” Lets be clear, I’m going to say yes if for no other reason than I have to. Still, I’d like to be prepared.

“Yes I can. I just did.” He’s the Goddamn devil, so sure of himself and so cocky. Not at all the guy I had him pegged to be. “Besides, I thought you liked living life in the fast lane.”

“Pick me up at noon, but I’m warning you right now.” I lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear, “I’m bringing a gun.”

“So am I,” he says with a wink. The gun he’s referring to is his cock, by the way. Smooth guy, really.

14

Part one of my plan has been set in motion. I had ideas, but Jensen’s idea is better.

I jiggle my key into the lock but quickly realize it won’t be necessary. Either Lydia left the door unlocked again or Brick has stopped by for an impromptu visit. Both scenarios carry equal weight in the annoying department.

“You look like you had a long night,” Brick says from my throne before I’m even able to spot him.

I close the door behind me and toss my keys onto the table that’s closest.

“A long morning?” he asks, too impatient for a response.

“A little bit of both.” I walk past him and into the kitchen. His inquisitive shadow trails me as I reach into the refrigerator to grab moscato and orange juice.

“You’re killing me with the suspense.” He sounds like a child on Christmas morning.

“If you must know,” I say and turn to him, “we fucked in a car parked in front of a bar in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“That’s fucking fantastic,” he says with a laugh and parks his ass on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Details right now.”

“His cock is huge,” I tease and grab two wine glasses from atop the fridge.

He shakes his head in disgust. “Not the part of the story I’m dying to hear.”

“Bigger than yours.” I chuckle to myself and begin the delicate process of perfecting the alcohol-to-orange juice ratio.

“Bitch, don’t play with me.”

“What is it with you calling women bitches all the time?”

“It’s a thing I do, now continue with the story.” He leans forward with venom in his eyes. “Was it everything you ever dreamed?”

“If you’re asking if I ripped his heart out, then I’m sad to report an overwhelming no.”

“You’re a damn fool.”

“Excuse me?” I take a sip and begrudgingly slide him a mimosa.

“You gave him the pussy when you were supposed to be stealing his heart.” He shrugs and cracks a knowing grin. “He won’t be back for seconds.”

“You’re like Nostradamus. You’re only right here and there, and right now, you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” I chug the remainder of my drink and wipe my lips clean. “If you must know, he’s taking me on a weekend trip somewhere.”

“For the whole weekend?” He runs a pointed finger along the rim of the glass. “He has an angle.”

“They always do, right?”

“Where are you going on this romantic retreat?”

I shrug.

“You don’t know?” He slides off the stool and smiles. “What do you want written on your casket?”

I think about it for a millisecond before I realize I already know the engraving I desire. “She who lies here dead played harder, and better, than her former lover.”

“Nobody will know what the fuck that means.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s inherently dishonest.”

“You’re so sure of yourself.” I hook my finger and command him to follow as I exit the kitchen. “How is Tyra by the way?”

“We’re taking things slow.”

I turn to him as I hover above my throne. “She hasn’t given you the time of day.”

“Give me time.”

“You’re running out of time. “ I take a measured step toward him and dance my fingers vertically along his chest. “Tick tock. Tick tock. You’ll be sucking your own cock.”

“Speaking of self fellatio, I’ll have you know that yoga is doing wonders on my flexibility.”

“You’re disgusting.” I fall back into my throne and cross my legs.

“Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t lick your own clit if you could.”

“Speaking of clits, have you thought about Cece?”

“I did a little research.” He takes a seat on the couch across from me and kicks his feet out onto the glass coffee table. “You were right. She’s fucking perfect.” He draws a finger to the stubble growing along his cheek and scratches it. “Still, I can’t figure out what your angle is.”

“Who says I have an angle?”

“Because you’re a wicked bitch.” He smiles wickedly. “Oops, there’s that word again.”

“You’re such a dick.” I reach under my arm, grab a pillow, and throw it his direction. He catches it before it can knock him in his pretty face. “But, you’re a right dick. I do have an angle.”

“Enlighten me then, but make it quick. I have a massage scheduled within the hour.” He checks his watch and nods. “Forty-five minutes, actually. And it’s on the other side of town.”

“Raphael—Rafe—Darceny. He’s an absolute stud and Cece is obsessed with him.”

“That poor man.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. He wants her—“

“Why?”

“Because she’s chaste.” The very thought causes my eyes to roll into the back of my head. “And he’s old school like that, I suppose. Hard to get inside a man’s head, so I’m full of assumptions.”

“It amazes me you can be full of anything but cock.”

I throw another pillow, but he’s able to catch it again. “And I’m the crude one?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll ruin her, and I’ll make sure Rafe knows.”

“See? Who says we always have to be on opposing sides. When we’re not trying to outmaneuver each other, we make a great team.” I rise to my feet and throw my hand out.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” He reaches for my hand as he stands, and grips my hand firmly.

“Easy, boy.”

“I am going to fuck you so hard you’re not going to be able to walk in graduation.”

“You’ll be fucking nothing but a stuffed toy. There’s a sale of fleshlights online right now. If I were you, I’d shell out the eighty dollars for a pussy that won’t resist your disgusting advances.”

“It wasn’t disgusting before.”

“That was then. This is now and you’re going to be late for your massage so get the fuck out.”

And with that, we finalize our handshake. Unbeknown to him, his path to victory just became a hell of a lot more difficult. With someone like Cece clinging to his every step, he’ll be lucky if he has time to jerk off every morning.

15

What is the difference between an illusion and a magic trick? An illusion never exists in the first place. An illusion is a beautiful lie, a trick that affects your mind. A magic trick, however, is oftentimes tangible and real. Whether it’s a twist of fate, or a twist of a knife from an unknown attacker.

Magic tricks—like the best yogurts—aren’t just for kids. Some of the greatest acts of magic one is likely to ever witness are for adults only. This is one of those tricks.

Cece—I imagine—was a nun in her former life, if you are to believe that reincarnation bullshit, that is. If she wasn’t a nun, then I’m certain she was at least in attendance at some musky convent.

After I’m done with her, and the transformation is complete, she’ll be a clone of me. If that’s not the magic trick of the century—worthy of a televised special—then I don’t know nothing about anything.

It’s a beautiful spring day, where the cool wind blows against my warm skin under the light of the afternoon sun. There’s not a cloud in sight—a perfect rendition of the Carolina sky.

Cece sits in a stitched-back patio chair across the table from me. She’s dressed less modestly than before, with a tank top exposing the top of her breasts, layered over a pair of faded jeans. Her hands are folded over her lap. She’s out of place and nervous, and it shows.

I had offered a drink, but she insisted she desired to head into the night with a clear mind. So, once again, I seem to be drinking alone. I take a sip of mimosa.

“Are you nervous?” I ask her with a purposeful tone of concern.

“I haven’t been on a date in years.”

“This isn’t a date in the literal sense,” I remind her. “This date has nothing to do with matters of the heart.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Why can’t I just meet someone on Craigslist?”

“Because the internet is full of creeps, Cece. Do you want to be on Channel Ten News as a breaking story as you are carried out of a crazy man’s basement, rescued after ten years of torture?”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“Just remember a few things.” I rest my elbows on the table and lean close to her. It’s imperative that she hears what comes next. “I like to call them the rules of innocence.”

She arches her brow. “You mean like that trashy reality show.”

“No,” I huff. I’m still a little testy about the existence of that show. Brick and I were basically the prototypes, and yet, we earned no credit. “Have I told you the rules?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Fuck who you want. Fuck when you want. Keep your heart protected, and never, under any circumstances, fall in love.” I throw myself back in my chair, proud of myself for my perfect delivery.

“I love Rafe.”

“Well…” I stutter. “It’s alright to fall in love with him.” I want to continue, to drill it into her head that it’s a little creepy for her to love someone she has hardly said a word to. For logistical reasons, I don’t. I say all of this, knowing it’s all bullshit. Cece is going to fall for Brick harder than the hammer of Thor. It’s the rules I choose to live my life by, but I’m stronger than her. Her heart is going to snap like a twig.

“What if I can’t do it?” she asks while fiddling with her thumbs and biting into her lip nervously.

“Do you want Rafe?”

She nods.

“Then don’t ask that question again. Doubt is a powerful tool of the devil.”

“What does he look like?”

“He looks like an asshole.”

“That’s promising.”

“He’s tall and handsome. Muscular, but not too big. His eyes will pierce right through your soul, and his tattoos are a beautiful tapestry—“ Dear God, I sound like I’m in love with him…

“Tattoos?” Her eyes almost bulge out of her sockets while she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Really? Tattoos are going to be the thing that breaks the camel’s back. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculous, Cece? Not to mention, judgmental.”

“I’m sorry,” she shrieks. “I’m not used to this sh—stuff.”

I reach across the table and grab her hands in a comforting gesture. “Everybody starts somewhere. The tangled world of intersex relationships is a ship sailing on rugged waters. It’s complicated and often difficult. I’m trying to make it easier for you to navigate.”

She sighs and chews into her lip. “What would you do if you were me?”

“I would fuck everyone that I could.”

“You do that, anyway.”

“Point taken.” I tilt my head and ponder her question. “I guess I’m built this way, no matter the external components around me. If I were you, I’d really just be me. I always will be.”

“How are you so strong?” Her eyes glaze over mine. “How do you do it?”

“I have faith.”

“You’re religious?”

“My faith is the theory that men will be men, and women will be women unless they take control of their own stories.”

“My mom says that women have a place—“

“I’m sorry, Cece.” I wave a hand at her.” I’m going to have to cut you off. Your mother is an idiot.”

“So you’ve said,” she says and reaches for my now-warm mimosa. “I’m not saying I agree with her—“

“Good.”

She chugs the remainder of my drink and sits the glass onto the table. “It’s just hard to reconcile my upbringing with the realities of this world.”

The doorbell rings in the knick of time, because I’ve had enough of this damn conversation. I smile and jump to my feet. “Okay, he’s here.”

She looks toward the patio door and blows out a stream of nervous air. “I don’t know—“

“Everything is going to be fine.” I reach for her hand and assist her to her feet. “Just remember what we talked about.”

“Quick dinner. Avoid beans. Netflix. Condoms. Sex. Don’t fall in love,” she says, running down the list of things I told her. “I think that covers it.” She smiles nervously and slides the patio door open as the doorbell rings again.

“You’re going to be fine,” I promise her and stroke my fingers through her hair. I can say what I want to say, but I care for this girl. It makes this easier, but it also makes it harder. Perhaps she stands a chance on her own, without my interference. I’ll never know, she means too much in this game to let her escape now. It’s too late. “You’re going to be fine.”

The familiar ding of a doorbell rings through my ears.

I am giving Brick fresh pussy on a fucking silver platter, and he has the nerve to be impatient about it? God, help his sorry ass because I want nothing more than to shove a shovel up it.

“You should go,” I say through a forced smile and pat her on the shoulder.

“Yeah…” she mumbles to herself and slides the patio door shut.

I watch her walk away and take a deep breath as she approaches the front door.

Ding-dong. The doorbell rings again, and I imagine a beautiful scene in my head: My hands around Brick’s throat.

The hours tick by and I haven’t received a fury of texts or a panicked phone call. I’ll take that as a good sign that everything is falling into place, but I’ve had one too many mimosas and I find myself drifting off to sleep.

I force my eyes open and catch the scene on the television. Much has happened in between the time I last closed my eyes and now. It would seem as if the sweet girl, Summer has been influenced a little too much by the queen bitch of the show, Tamra. It’s called The Rules of Innocence, and it’s the greatest brushstroke of reality television since Big Brother first premiered when I was a toddler.

As I told Cece earlier, I’m still waiting for my royalty checks to come in from the producers of the show. It’s like an investigator followed Brick and I around campus, catching us in all of our devious glory, then reported back to the network executives and made a show about us.

Meh. Whatever. My lashes fall over my eyes…

16

I fumble with my fingers to place the cap on the back of my hoop earring as I trip over a random shoe and stumble out of my bedroom and into the bathroom. When I flip on the light switch, I give my reflection on the oversized mirror an approving nod.

Damn, I look good today.

That’s what a ten-plus hour nap will do to you, I guess. I’m clean, refreshed and prepared for war. By the time Jensen pulls back into my driveway Sunday evening, I will have him on a leash so short he will be begging to move in with me by the end of the week.

That’s a trade I would almost go for. Lydia for Jensen? Lets run down the pros and cons:

Pros: Sex when I want it, Lydia will be gone

Cons: It could be difficult living with a man after his heart has been ripped out of his chest.

Maybe that’s not such a good trade after all. I lean close to the mirror, purse my lips and apply a thin layer of cherry lip gloss. When I’m done, I smack my lips, grab a bag full of makeup and flip off the light switch as I exit into the living room.

I drop my makeup bag into a larger duffel bag and scoop my phone off the arm of the couch. No new notifications, which annoys me. I want—need—crave—details about last night. I don’t care who the fuck spills the beans, Brick or Cece, but I need to know what kind of shitfuckery went down last night before Jensen arrives to pick me up.

Ding Dong.

Too late.

I reach down and zip the duffel bag before straightening out my white tank top, and adjusting my short denim jeans. When I pull the door open, Jensen smiles and takes a quick glance at the silver watch on his wrist. It glistens and sparkles under the harsh sun.

“You look… different,” I say, taking stock of the man before me. Dark sunglasses shield his eyes. A cutoff university shirt drapes around his neck and shows off his impressive shoulders. The holes on either side of his shirt are ripped down to just below the line where black gym shorts cuts against dark skin. He looks like a fucking fratboy and I want to jump his bones. I would ride him in the fucking streets.

“I’m incognito.”

“Why?” I ask, my eyes squared on his spectacular pectorals.

“I heard it’s not kosher to take your students on weekend getaways to the beach.”

He has a point there. I leave the door open and turn to retrieve my bag. I take precise measures to give him the best view possible as I bend down to grab the duffel. My shorts hitch up my thighs, and I give him a purposeful and playful peek of my ass cheeks.

“Quit showing your ass. We’re going to be late.”

I snap my attention toward him to discover him checking his watch again. I push my bag into his arms, causing him to flinch backward. “Do you think I’m your slave?”

“Oh, please,” I huff, shut the door and turn my key in the lock. “So, the beach, huh?”

He nods and drops my bag into his hand. “Carolina beach.”

“Great,” I groan. “That’s what? A four hour drive?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How fast I drive.”

My hair blows in every direction imaginable as we cruise down the highway. His hair does too, but it’s short and manages to stay out of his eyes. It’s a warmer day than yesterday. It almost feels like summer has arrived a month or two early, and I have no complaints.

When I grow up, I would love to trade my Civic in for a convertible like Jensen’s. I’ll cross that bridge after I graduate and find a job. Even with a marketing degree, I envision a rough road ahead. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t end up back at the same trailer park I grew up in.

I take a peek at the speedometer and notice the red hand swaying over the sixty mark. “You know the speed limit is seventy, right?”

He glances at me and shakes his head. “I’m aware.”

“Then step on it.” I throw my arm over the side of the door. “I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

He laughs and presses his foot lightly against the brakes. “Do you want to drive?”

“Nah.” I wave him off and lay my head against the seat, taking in the view of billboards stitched between collages of trees.

“We’ll be there in a little over two hours.”

We begin to speed up, but I know without looking we’re still not traveling at, or above, the speed limit. If Brick were in the driver seat, we’d be pulling into the hotel in about thirty minutes. But, he’d also make me blow the patrolman when we’d inevitably be stopped.

My mouth waters when I see a billboard advertising Cook Out, the greatest fast food chain in all of existence. Their cheesecake milkshakes are to die for. Seriously, like full-on cardiac arrest. It would be almost worth it.

My stomach drops into my gut when I see the next billboard: Hell Is Real. I have enough problems to worry about without this bullshit. Real or not real, I’ll figure that shit out when I die—probably the next time I sell my soul for a blueberry cheesecake milkshake.

The next billboard—advertising an adult store with a woman with luscious lips—steals Jensen’s attention and we find ourselves perilously close to the edge of the road as tires spin against gravel. “Jesus, Jensen,” I squeal and throw my hand over my pounding heart. “Does the mere display of sex turn you on to the point it’s worth killing the both of us?”

The next billboard wages full-on war against the last one: Sex Is Sin. At this point, I’m hesitant to disagree.

I look over right on cue to see Jensen adjusting an erection through his shorts. His cock pushes against the fabric, drawing an outline that makes my mouth water. No, I tell myself. Bad Apple, I reprimand myself. I’m going to make him earn it, I promise myself.

“I’m going to need you to stop playing with yourself and focus on the damn road.”

He’s his own man and is going to do what he’s going to do. He makes that much clear when he steadies the wheel with one hand and pulls his shorts down in the front. His cock springs free, resting against his cut-off tee.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “It’s uncomfortable.”

I crane my head around my seat to peer behind us. No cops are in sight. “You’re going to get us both arrested.”

“Relax.” He places his other hand on the wheel and focuses on the road ahead. “I’ll put him away when he goes down.”

“And when will that be?”

He shrugs again. “Who knows.”

I remove my sunglasses and fold them before tucking them into a pocket in the side of the door. When I reach my hand over and edge my fingers along his cock, both his body and his erection jumps.

“Aww,” he chuckles. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Shut up,” I bark and grip the width of his cock, squeezing it while glancing nervously at the highway around us. There aren’t many cars on the road, but all it takes is one bored officer in an unmarked car to spell disaster.

I relish the weight of him in my hand, smack my lips and lower my head into his lap. I plant short kisses along the shaft, and swirl my tongue around the head. His palm travels to my head as he tangles his fingers in my hair.

“Fuck…”

I look up to him to find him looking down at me, when his eyes should be focused on the road. “Eyes on the road,” I scowl.

“Fine,” he groans and readjusts his hold on the wheel.

I wonder what it says about me that I only started liking popsicles after I first began sucking cock. There’s a reason why many men would prefer to be blown than to engage in intercourse—it requires no work from them. It’s women who do all the work. Maybe that’s why so many of my sex complain about oral sex.

I don’t, because it’s not work to me. I have an oral fixation and I have no shame. My hand pushes into his underwear and curls underneath his balls. I give them a hard squeeze as I wrap my lips around his head.

There is nothing sexier than hearing a man moan, and knowing you’re the reason for his verbal pleasure. It’s a win for all parties involved. He’s reminded that he needs me, and I’m also reminded that he needs me.

He applies pressure to the top of my head, and I oblige him. Further down his shaft I go, relishing the silky smooth skin of his impossibly hard shaft. They have dick-shaped lollipops, but I’m still waiting on dick-flavored candy. I’d be broke every time I walked into Food Lion.

“God,” he moans. “I want to watch.”

That’s too fucking bad. I raise my mouth from his spit-covered dick. “Eyes on the road.” I wrap my fingers around him and begin long, slow strokes. When I reach the top of his head, I swipe a finger against his wet slit before barreling back down to the bottom of the shaft.

His breathing intensifies with every stroke. His stomach chokes on contractions and his foot pressed against the gas becomes irregular. A quick glance at the speedometer and I realize we are traveling at speeds between fifty-five and seventy, and they’re never steady.

“I want to suck your cock, Mr. Moon,” I say with a pout of my lips. “But I’m afraid you’re going to kill us.”

“Yeah?” He shifts his head to me, ignoring the road. His eyes are a dark shade of wild His cock spasms in my hand. “You’re going to kill me if you don’t.” His hand crawls behind my head and he pulls me back to his cock.

No objection here.

I swallow the entirety of his hardness in one go, pressing my lips against the base of his pelvis. His legs snap inward and he hollers in ecstatic glee, “Wow!”

A little trick I learned along the way: I push a finger up against the crux of his ass and balls. His foot presses hard against the pedal and we speed up.

I continue to make love to his cock, but focus my lips on the top half while my hand begins to stroke the bottom half. I’m all over him.

My tongue flicks precum from his cockhead.

My hand pumps the base of his cock.

My finger slips into his ass.

Oops.

“The fuck?”

I speed up my stroking, and twist my head around his cockhead. My finger pushes deeper into his ass until I’m knuckle deep.

“Fuck…” he moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckin’ fuck.” His ass rises from the seat as he sprays thick, warm cum against the back of my throat. I squeeze every last drop out of him and think to myself, why isn’t there cum-flavored candy. A dick-shaped lollipop that squirts creamy white spunk once you lick it to the center would make somebody a millionaire.

His fingers curl through my hair as his body comes down from the euphoric high. “You do that again, and I might have to marry you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I pull his shorts back over his penis and wipe my lips clean. “Or do. Whichever.”