Page 44 of Living on the Edge

I keep my head tilted back so the champagne doesn’t pour out as he pushes a couple of inches into my mouth.

“That’s a good girl… that feels so good…” He doesn’t try to force his way in, just moving an inch or so in and out.

I wrap my hands around him and stroke along the shaft, closing my lips tightly around it so as not to spill the champagne. It’s more difficult this way, but more fun too. The bubbles tickle my throat as I open as wide as I can. He slips in a little deeper, and I realize this is only half.

Taking the whole thing probably won’t happen but I suddenly want to try.

“Swallow,” he says, as if reading my mind.

But instead of trying to fuck my mouth, he lifts the champagne bottle again and my mouth opens of its own volition.

“Take a little more this time,” he encourages. “Don’t worry if you can’t take it all, just do what you’re doing.”

So I suck harder, bobbing my head as I take another inch. He’s already hitting the back of my throat and I’m not sure whether I’m going to gag or swallow again.

He moves one hand down to my neck, gently closing around it, his thumb moving around to the front.

“You can take a little more,” he says softly. “Swallow and then relax. I’ll help you.”

With this thumb stroking back and forth on the front of my throat, his cock firmly between my lips, he eases in a little deeper. He glides back a little and then pushes forward, doing it over and over, until I realize I’m deep throating him.

“Ah, fuck, that’s beautiful, baby… I’m gonna come right down your throat… but I want you looking at me—that’s a good girl.” He thrusts deeper, and I almost gag again, but the look in his eyes makes me tingle with need. And pride. And pure lust.

He growls, throwing back his head as he shoots off into my mouth.

His fingers dig into the hair at the back of my neck, holding me firmly as he spurts, and tears spring to my eyes as I gag. But he doesn’t let go and I don’t want him to. This might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever done, and I never want it to end. Even if I’m crying. Even if my makeup is running.

“Fuck.” He releases me so abruptly I fall forward.

But he’s there, reaching out to grab my shoulders and gently pull me to my feet.

“That was perfect,” he whispers against my hair. “You were perfect.”

“I never didthatbefore either…” I whisper back.

“Was I too rough?”

“No.”

“Did you like it?” He lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him again.

I nod. “Very much.”

“Then get on the bed, baby. We’re nowhere close to done. I need that vibrator you mentioned.”

I point to where I left it on the nightstand, and he motions for me to get on the bed before stepping out of his jeans. He pulls off his T-shirt and I’m momentarily mesmerized. He’s still semi-hard, his cock bobbing against his groin, and his body is perfection.

Tall and tan, with broad shoulders that taper into lean hips and a six-pack that makes my mouth water all over again.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

He takes a pull from the bottle of champagne.

“Lie down and spread your legs. It’s time for me to reciprocate.”

Sweet Jesus.

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