Page 29 of Gotta Jones For Ya
He tucked the gun safely back into the holster on the table, but I was still stuck looking at him. The shit stirred something so deep in me, I couldn’t ignore it. I stepped toward him, slow, breathing heavy, heart slamming. His brow ticked up.
“You good?”
I looked up at him, lips slightly parted. “I want you.”
He cocked his head. “Right now?”
“Mmhmm.” I nodded, chest rising and falling. “Right now.”
He stared at me for a long beat, like he was making sure I meant that shit. Like he was giving me a chance to back out. I didn’t. And when I dropped to my knees in front of him, he let out a low, sinful chuckle that vibrated all the way through me.
“I knew you was a freak demon underneath all that resistance and attitude,” he muttered, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “Go ‘head then. Show me somethin’.”
I unbuckled his pants with shaky fingers, tugged them low enough to free that thick, heavy dick . My mouth watered.
“You nervous?” he asked, still calm. Too calm.
I glanced up. “No,” I whispered, brushing my tongue along his tip, “I know how to suck dick very well.”
“Then prove it.”
And I did. I wrapped my lips around him and eased down slowly, eyes fluttering from the stretch. He hissed through his teeth, hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head. Not forcing, just there. Holding. Possessive.
“Yeahhh… that’s it,” he groaned. “Get them fuckin’ jaws workin’, baby.”
I went in, spit slicking my chin already. I wasn’t trying to be cute at all. I wanted to feel him twitch and moan my name. I sucked, twisted my hand at the base, and worked my throat on him while he growled above me.
“Fuck. You tryna drain me in this bitch?”
I moaned against him, and that only made it nastier. Wet, messy sounds echoed through the booth. My knees were pressed to the cold concrete, his thighs tensed, abs flexed. He let out this raw-ass growl from his chest and gripped the side of the table for balance.
Then he snapped. “C’mere.”
Knuck yanked me up, lips crashing into mine as I gasped, fingers tangled in his shirt. He turned, slammed my back againstthe side wall of the booth, his grip on my thighs tight enough to bruise.
“Fuck. I need that pussy,” he groaned, low and deadly against my mouth. “You gon’ fuck ‘round and get pregnant in this muthafucka.”
He shoved my panties to the side, fingers sliding through soaked folds. “Fuck me,” I begged, breath ragged. Seconds later, he pushed into me and I damn near choked on a cry.
My nails dug into his back, eyes rolling, heart slamming. He was so deep, so thick, it hurt good—so damn good. Tears stung the corners of my eyes as he rocked into me with punishing strokes, every thrust knocking the air from my lungs.
“You feel that? Huh?” he rasped, sweat beading at his temple. “That’s me claimin’ every inch of this pussy.
“God,” I moaned loudly, legs locked tight around his waist.
“Knuck… oh, God…”
My head dropped back against the wall, jaw slack. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. He kissed me hard, hand at my throat, keeping me grounded as he beat my pussy up.
“I fuckin’ love this shit,” he murmured, biting my earlobe. “I’ll shoot a nigga over this pussy, girl. Nobody ever gon’ fuck you like this. Just me.” I whimpered, clenching around him. His rhythm broke, got rougher. Sloppier. Wet smacks echoed loud in the booth as I felt his release building. “Fuck,” he bit out, dragging me flush against his chest. “Say you feel this shit.”
“I… I feel it, I feel you…”
“Say this dick is yours,” he demanded through clenched teeth.
“This dick is mine, Keon. Fuck!!!”
He groaned deep, like he’d just lost control of himself. My legs shook. My body shuddered as I came so hard I was seeing stars. He pulsed deep inside and then released and nudged all over the concrete floor.
