Page 28 of Breaking the Lawyer

This.

This is what I've been missing. The way he responds to every touch, every movement.

It's like we're speaking a language I didn't know I knew.

"I need to taste you," I hear myself say, and before he can respond, I'm leaning down to take his cock into my mouth.

And this is the exact moment I lose my mind, if there even was anything to lose to begin with.

He's thick and hard on my tongue, and the taste of him, salty and clean, makes me moan around his shaft. I keep my fingers moving inside him while I suck him, and the combination seems to drive him wild.

"Fuck," he gasps, one hand threading through my hair. "That's so good."

I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using everything I learned from watching him earlier. When I swirl my tongue around the head, his hips buck up involuntarily.

"Sorry," he breathes.

I pull off just long enough to say, "Don't apologize. I like it."

And God, I do. I like the way he loses control when I touch him. Like the sounds he makes, the way his body responds. I've never felt anything like this before—this desperate need to please someone, to make them feel good.

I go back to sucking him, using my tongue and lips while my fingers continue their steady rhythm inside him. He's getting close, I can tell—his breathing is ragged, his muscles tense.

"Stop," he says suddenly, his hand tightening in my hair.

I pull off momentarily, my heart jumping in my chest, fingers still buried inside him but frozen. "Did I do something wrong?"

He gives me a look that's pure sin. "No. But I thought you said you wanted me to ride you."

Fuck.

Fuck.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I withdraw my fingers, because even looking at him right now is too much.

"Lie down,” he commands and my body obeys automatically, like he’s the one in charge of it.

My entire being's vibrating like a tuning fork as I collapse onto the blanket. The night air should cool me down, but it doesn't do shit against the fire burning under my skin.

I'm about to fuck a man.

Fuck. A man.

The thought should send me running. Instead, my dick practically salutes.

He kneels beside me, all long limbs and lean muscle, his cock thick and shining from my spit. When he reaches for the condom, I can't look away from his hands.

"You're shaking," Christian points out, tearing the packet with his teeth.

"Nervous as hell," I admit. No point in sugar-coating it.

"Good nervous or 'call me a cab' nervous?"

"The kind where I might embarrass myself in the next thirty seconds."

His laugh is low and dirty. "We'll see about that."

He rolls the condom down my shaft with practiced ease, and fuck me—I've never had anyone else do this. It was always my job, my responsibility, my fumbling around in the dark. But watching him handle my cock like he owns it...

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