Page 84 of I Knead You Tonight

I don’t think, just drop to my knees, pulling those stupid sexy sweats down along the way.

“What the…uhhhh…”

His words turn into a moan as I run my tongue over his skin.

Up and down, over and over, using my spit to coat his length.

To tease him.

His hands crash into my hair and he lifts it into a pile on my head, pulling it to get my attention.

I glance up at him.

“I wish I were one of those dudes who had the ability to be all chill about it, saying you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but fuck. You on your knees? Looking up at me like you are?” He hisses. “Please, for the love of all things holy, suck my cock already, Drew. You’re killing me.”

I heed his instructions, pulling his hard length into my mouth, loving having him at my mercy.

But more than that, I love the feel of him on my tongue.

Inch by inch, I take him until I can feel myself starting to gag and back off.

“Do that again.”

I do, only this time he holds me there, not letting me move. I can feel his cock sitting there, pulsing. My mouth feels like it’s stretched beyond capacity and I can’t breathe.

He trails one hand down the side of my face to my jaw, rubbing it.

“Relax for me,” he coaches. “Relax and breathe through your nose.”

I do as he says and feel him push deeper.

“That’s it,” he approves. “Fucking hell.”

With no warning, he wrenches himself from my mouth, pulling me up.

He strips my camisole from my body, and my first reaction is to wrap my arms around my waist.

Pregnancy wasn’t kind to my skin, and I was left with what seems like hundreds of tiny little stretch marks all across my stomach.

“What are you doing?” He tugs my makeshift shield away. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

“I have stretch marks.”

He scowls. “Big fucking deal. We all have scars.” He runs his fingertips over my imperfections. “Some of them are just more beautiful than others.”

He skates his fingers up my body and flicks the button on my front-clasping bra, my tits falling free.

His blue eyes darken as he watches them bounce, his lip captured between his teeth.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, searching my eyes.

“Yes.”

The response is automatic but sincere.

“Stay here.” He pulls his sweats over his erection and disappears into the bedroom, returning just seconds later with a camera in hand. “If you’re not comfortable with this, tell me, but you have no fucking idea how insanely hot you look right now, and I want you to see it. I want you to see how perfect you are.”

He wants to take my picture? Now?

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