Page 112 of The Overtime Kiss

She grabs my dick and yanks it right back between her lips. “I’m all good,” she says and she takes me in, then resumes her enthusiastic, extraordinary pace, sucking with ferocity.

With the same rabid desire I feel for her.

Spit dribbles down the side of her mouth. And she doesn’t stop. She keeps going.

That’s all it takes.

I’m shaking, shuddering, gripping the back of her head, fucking her throat—until I’m spilling in her mouth. My world goes offline. Pleasure steals all my senses. This filthy bliss rattles my world as I groan and grunt for days.

When I ease out and blink open my eyes, there’s a wicked look in her baby blues. I don’t even know why—until she parts her lips.

She’s been holding my come in her mouth.

She pokes out the corner of her tongue, coated in my release, and flicks it against her red-stained lips—slow, deliberate—a red-and-white finale, a work of dirty art before she presses her lips together and makes a show of swallowing it all.

I swear, I nearly come again. “I’m giving you an A for artistry and filth,” I say, my voice as drained as I feel.

She gives a little shimmy of her shoulders as I reach down and tug her up. I loop my arms around her, my legs still shaking. When I rest my forehead against hers, my synapses fire in little bursts of pleasure, my brain a neon canvas.

But as I begin to reconnect to reality, my mind returns to a few minutes earlier. “Did you say you practiced?”

“I’m an athlete. That’s what we do.”

“You fucking practiced?” I ask again.

I shouldn’t be astonished. This is super on-brand for her. And yet, something about it is kind of ridiculously touching. It’s hitting my heart in ways I never would have expected.

“I wanted to get it right. I wanted to be good at it. You practice hockey,” she says, like she’s proving a point too. That practice makes perfect? Or maybe that athletes just love to play, whether practice or games. We crave movement. We crave competition. We chase excellence.

Is that what she wanted? I drag a hand down the side of my face, blown away by this woman who wanted to be so goddamn goodfor methat she practiced.

“Fair,” I say, still gobsmacked, but damn curious too. “How did you practice? With…Popsicles?”

Her smile is full of pride—pride in a job well done. “Check the box. It’s more than halfway empty. So maybe I’ve had a bit of a sugar rush the last few days. I read some online articles on technique. And I wanted to…surprise you.”

She asked me to show her what good sex is, but this woman is showing me what great attention is. And I’m learning, too, that this kind of attention doesn’t just make my dick happy—it makes my heart happy as well. “You came to class prepared,” I say, but I’m not sure that covers the half of what I feel. I hope my tone of voice does some of the work for what I’m not sure how to say though.

“I did,” she says, but her smile softens as she asks, “was it good for you?”

Like it’s all she wants to know.

I stroke her cheek softly, looping my other arm around her to tug her closer. “Out of this world, Sabrina. You blew my dick and my mind. I still can’t believe you practiced.”

Her smile widens. “I used to get up every morning at four-thirty to practice ice skating. Sucking on a cherry Popsicle so that I could give you an excellent blow job was no hardship.”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a deeper hug. Is this a normal reaction post-blow job of my dreams? To just hold her? I don’t even know. But I don’t want to let go. “I didn’t need to teach you,” I say softly.

“But I wanted you to,” she says, her hand gripping my shirt as she looks up at me. “I wanted it to be so good for you, Tyler.”

I hear the vulnerability in her voice. And the desire too.

I pull back, tucking a finger under her chin. “You nailed it, sweetheart. And that means it’s my turn now.”

I zip up my jeans, adjust myself, and grab a tumbler from the cupboard. Taking my time, I reach for a bottle of scotch my brother gave me when I joined the team, pour two fingers, then grab an ice cube from the freezer and drop it into the liquor. Sabrina watches me with avid eyes as I pluck the ice cube from the glass and pop it in my mouth. I suck off the whisky and swirl it around on my tongue, making sure I get my mouth nice and cold. Her eyes widen, and I let the ice cube fall from my mouth back into the tumbler with a plink.

“And now, here’s the next lesson…”

I peel down her leggings, grab her hips, then set her on the counter. I slip off her panties, press my palms on either side of her strong legs and bend so I can lick a slow, cold line along her sweet, wet pussy.

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