Page 46 of Crow

“Neither,” I whisper. I close my hand around the base of his cock, satisfied with the feral sound that escapes his throat and the shudder that ripples through him. “It’s you.”

“Just so we’re clear, you’re going to ride my face after this. Backwards and forwards and any other damn direction I choose.”

I’m aching so badly that, as I stroke my hand down his length, it takes all my self-control not to reach down and touch myself too. It would feel so good, but I want to wait. I want Owen to touch me. I want him to be the one to make me come.

He’s so long that I can’t imagine fitting much more than the tip of him and maybe an inch or two after that, into my mouth. I work him with my hand as I lean forward, bringing my other hand up to cup his balls.

“Tare… Tare…”

His hands are in my hair, his head tipped back, a picture of male bliss, power, and dominance, but he doesn’t urge my face forward. He’s not going to instruct me. He’s not going to boss me around or make demands. He’s going to let me figure this out for myself. He knows that I’ve had enough of taking orders. It’s not the same with him, but I like that he lets me do this for him. It’s as much for me too, and he’s figured that out. Likely long before I did.

I lick the tip of his cock, circling the head with my tongue before I plunge my mouth forward. I don’t gag myself. I stop when I feel him at the back of my tongue and draw back. He’s thick and my jaw immediately feels the strain. I love the burn as much as I love the salty, musky taste of him.

“Fuck me senseless, mother of mercy,” he chants above me, under his breath. He knows more religious sayings than I do.

I pull back, working him with my mouth and my hand in tandem. It’s not hard to set a rhythm. I use my tongue to trace the veins on his shaft, playing over his tip, tracing the slit. I might never have done this before, but I know I’m doing it right, or at least, right enough.

Owen trembles and quakes, big tremors that I’m causing. He’s fearsome and gorgeous in turn, mysterious and smart, well read, probably well-traveled, confident on the exterior, a natural born protector, an artist, the epitome of male power, in hisprime, and I’m the one down here, giving him such pleasure that he’s about to tear out of his own skin.

I’ve never known a sensation like this. Pure wicked lust, mixed up with a heady sense of my own innate power, but beyond that, just sheer delight that I’m here and that this man trusts me to do this for him.

Trusting your body, your secrets, your pleasure, your innermost self to another person is a big deal.

I’m a living, pulsing beacon between my thighs. It’s killing me that I can’t have him there. Giving him pleasure makes me feel good. So good. I want more. I want it all.

I love being down on my knees for him, his face brutal and fierce, controlling himself and longing all missed together. His hand glides through my hair, coiling up some of the strands, gripping tight.

“That’s it, babe. You’re sucking my dick so good.”

I know what a praise kink is, and honestly, I don’t think I have one. His words don’t make me glow all over. I’m already red hot as a fire poker, stoked to the brink with lust. My panties are ruined. I bring my other hand up, slipping it up my thigh and under the short leather skirt.

“That’s it. Touch yourself. I want your fingers on your clit while you’re sucking me off. Want to see you come apart for me.”

I lick the whole of his shaft, swirling my tongue over the tip to gather up the precum dripping there. Nothing has ever felt better than this, worshipping this man, making him feel so good that his powerful body trembles at a single touch.

I push my panties to the side. They’re drenched and cloying, but it only takes a pass of my fingers back and forth to get them completely slicked. I push two fingers to my entrance, gasping as I play them inside myself shallowly.

“Yes,” he groans. “Fuck, yes.”

I play through every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had as I grasp his cock with my hand, slicking my own wetness down his length before I lick it off, tasting myself.

His cock pulses in my hand, and his face changes, morphing into something that’s pure wild.

I go back to touching myself, playing lightly over my clit. A few touches is all it would take to send me off and I’m not ready for that yet. I want to come with him, this man who is too sexy and kind to be real.

I use my hand on his shaft while I get bold enough to lick his balls. I suck on them, the skin so fascinatingly strange. He’s all man and salt, especially as a I trace my way up his shaft with my tongue, mapping out the veins that wrap around his hard length. I suck on his head, finding that sensitive place on the underside and pressing my tongue against it until he grunts at the sensation.

More beast than man. That’s all me. I’m the one doing this for him.

I feel that straight to the basest part of me, down to my bones and blood.

My fingers work harder, slicking through my wet folds, touching myself sloppily and frantic.

“Can I fuck your mouth? Just a little?”

I nod eagerly. He’s already between my lips. He pushes forward, the smallest surge of his hips, seeing how much of his thick length he can get into my mouth.

It’s not much. I open as wide as I can, but it doesn’t seem like long until I feel him at the back of my throat. I swallow over and over, trying to keep myself from choking and gagging. Drool forms at the corners of my lips. I’m half worried I’ll suffocate, then then he pulls back, keeping his thrusts shallow.

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