Page 77 of Curveball
“You’re a smart guy. Pay attention.”
She pushes me those last few inches, till my back hits the wall. Lifts my leg with her hand behind my knee, then deposits that left foot flat on the tiled seat.
“Palmer, I’m feeling a little vulnerable like this.” My dick is bobbing, my balls dangling in the cool air and threatening to shrivel like raisins.
She tugs the thick towel from where she slung it over the wall of the shower. Folds it in layers on the wet floor in front of me, and drops to her knees.
I’m no longer confused.
She peers up at me from her perch, her hair slicked back, her nipples hard and at attention, her pussy peeking out from between her thighs. Every goddamn thing below my waist clenches in anticipation.
At the first flat swipe of her tongue against my balls, my head flops back against the wall and my breath stutters. My hands tunnel into her hair and hold on.
“Jesus fuck, Palmer.”
Her next swipe is at the head of my cock, licking away the pre-cum before sliding her lips over it and encasing it with the sweet heat of her mouth.
“Like that, do you?” she teases in a mumble. She’s wrapped around my thickness, sucking me in before dragging me back over her tongue, and then suctioning me back in as far as she can.
It takes most of my concentration to remain upright, to not let my knees buckle so I collapse to the floor beside her. I could guarantee that outcome using all of my awareness, but I need a reserve to enjoy Palmer’s mouth as she sucks me off.
Then again, when she draws me in until my tip bumps the back of her throat, there’s no need for thought. Right now, my words don’t stop.
“Damn, girl, yes, right there.”
My world revolves around sight, and feel—her lips grazing my erection as she suctions me deeper.
“Jesus, you do this good.”
Her soft fingertips massaging my aching balls.
“Fuck, Palmer, I’m on the edge.”
Her reaching back to gently massage that one place that makes my balls draw up. I cry out.
“Jesus, I’m coming!”
I push her head back. Try to pull out, but she holds me tight. Her throat bobs as she swallows me down, and holy hell . . .
“Babe, that’s—” What words are big enough to describe how I feel?
I turn off the water and sink to the floor. Draw her over my limp, sticky cock and into my lap. She lays her head to my chestand I wrap her up tight in my arms. And taste myself on her when I crash my lips to hers and fuck her mouth with my tongue.
With the water off, the air is chilly. Palmer shivers against me. We’re both still soaked.
“You okay? Can you stand?” I ask her. Because at least one of us needs to do that.
I suck it up, use those muscles I spend so much time perfecting, and pull her to her feet. I have her splayed on the bed in seconds, feasting on her body like it’s my last meal. Her hands plow through my hair as I thrust into her, devouring the sweet moans that pass her lips.
I want to give her everything she gave to me, and more. Make her feel it all. Two of my fingers are assigned to her clit, rubbing and stroking. Scissoring that plump nub and making her squirm, cry out, buck against both my hand and my cock with abandon. Her lips search mine out, fuse with mine, and we share a breath. When I pinch her nipple between two fingers, she throws back her head and claws at the sheets with a long, sweet gasp.
I’m stretched out on the king-sized bed, holding Palmer against me after demonstrating just how much energy this old man really has. Her skin is flushed and rosy, damp and glowing. We’re both going to need another shower.
The sun ishigh when Palmer pulls back the curtains on Sunday morning. The last two days have been packed with baseball and sex, a little sightseeing, and a little more sex. It was past curfew when our light went out last night, and I was long past worrying about a fine by the time we went to sleep.
She’s already dressed in jeans, a black tank, and my black and white home jersey, even though it’s hours till my game and we’re hundreds of miles from Nashville. Our bags are packed and waiting by the door, since our flight home is tonight afterthe game. Our carry-ons, though? That shit’s strung all over, and housekeeping’s already knocked twice.
I’m finished showering, so she goes into the bathroom, sitting on the wide marble counter and leaning into the magnifying mirror with a mascara wand at her eye, when her phone dings on the nightstand.
