Page 142 of Even Robots Die
Florentine
Slowly, I pull off the bedsheet and the loose pajama pants Brice has been wearing to bed. They’re so thin that they leave pretty much nothing to the imagination. Especially now that his hard on is making a tent out of it.
I can’t remove the pants completely or I risk waking him too early, so instead I hold the edge in one hand while I bend over him and slip my other hand under his cock as my lips meet the crown of it. There is something under my hand that surprises me. It’s cold and metallic. I want to toy with it, but I have a feeling that might wake Brice up before I’m ready, so I stop my exploration.
I suck the tip of his cock softly before I remove my lips and lick him from base to tip.
A raw moan comes from Brice before his hands come to tangle in my red curls.
I’m not sure he’s awake yet, but when I open my lips and take him to the back of my throat, the following moan is even louder and his hips start a pumping movement.
“You should be resting,” Brice says as he holds on to my hair.
I pop my lips from around his cock and with a devilish smile and a squeeze of the hand under his cock I ask, “Do you want me to stop?”
And for good measure, I twirl my tongue around his crown.
The only thing I get in answer is another of his raw moans, and I feel myself getting even wetter.
I suck the top of him again and let some of my drool pool around his length to wet my hand.
“Should I let you sleep some more and go get you something to eat so we can have breakfast in bed again?” I say when I release him again.
“You should be resting,” Brice repeats, but I can hear it in his voice, his control slowly fraying at the edges.
I take him to the back of my throat until I can’t breathe anymore.
“I should be the one taking care of you.”
Brice’s voice comes up as raw and pained, the tight hold of his hands in my hair a testimony to how much he’s on the edge of taking control back from me and doing exactly that.
I look him in the eye and twirl my tongue around his tip again as I slide my hand up and down.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Brice says, and without breaking eye contact, I take his cock to the back of my throat again.
“Fuck it.”
I don’t see him move, I barely feel his cock leave my mouth, and before I know it, Brice moves under me, and I end up on all fours in front of nothing.
“Sit,” he says as I remove my hands from the bed and look down.
“I’m not sitting on your face,” I tell him. “I’m going to smother you.”
“I’ll live,” he answers with a smirk.
I’m obviously not agreeing fast enough for him, because his hands grab my hips and make me sit right there on his face.
And then I can’t stay still or even stay up, because he dips his tongue inside of my pussy, spreads my wetness all over his lips, and starts moving that wicked tongue of his on my clit at a speed I now know can only be achieved by bat-shifters.
Andoh. My. God.
This is sinful and my brain stops functioning when he decides to dip his tongue inside of me and to move my hips against his face so he’s making me rub myself against his mouth at the same speed as his tongue is making a mess of me.
I fall in front of me, on all fours again, panting, moaning, and screaming his name like it’s a prayer—because after all, we’re in a church, so why not?
The thought barely crosses my mind before I’m screaming my release on his face. Brice doesn’t stop, he keeps eating me like he couldn’t dream of a better breakfast in bed, until I’m so sensitive that another orgasm hits me and I’m boneless on top of him. And even then, he still doesn’t stop, and flips his tongue on my clit at high speed. In addition, this time, he slips two fingers inside of me and as if he knows exactly—and I guess he does know—where to touch me to set me on fire and another orgasm ravages me.
He licks me one last time—this time slowly and languorously, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single drop of my cum—lifts my hips and moves under me so his eyes are at the same level as mine.
