Page 70 of The Worst Kind of Promise
She raptly sets her sight on the dark trail of hair leading down from my navel to the trimmed thatch of my pubes. And then her eyes bug out at my two hanging balls. “This is impressive, Kit. Huge. Heavy. You could really do some dama—”
“Faye,” I snap, my patience fading.
She giggles because she knows how torturous this is for me. I’m about to just start some stimulation with a couple of pumps, but Faye doesn’t let my hand get anywhere near my cock.
And the first stroke of that precise tongue…that first stroke has me ascending to heaven. She keeps one hand at the base while her tongue does the rest of the work, licking my veins in earnest, gliding all the way to the blushed tip where she sucks up some of my seed. Her hand is soft as it rubs up and down, halfheartedly squeezing with each upstroke. I feel my knees begin to shake and my head become woozy, and I have to remind myself that there’s a wall holding me up.
With spit-slick lips, Faye laps at the underside of my length, stamping delicate kisses to the taut skin. A moan punches out of me, and I lean my head back against the wall, all while tugging on her hair. I twist those wavy strands around my fingers for stability, nearly passing out when the heat of Faye’s mouth swallows down a good portion of my dick.
“There’s my good girl. Look at you, so eager for my cock. You want me to fuck your mouth so hard that your jaw locks?”
Faye doesn’t pop off to answer. Instead, she mewls around my girth, giving the slightest of nods as she takes me even deeper. Her cheeks puff out, and spit begins to drizzle from her mouth, congealing into long strings. A lot of women usually can’t take all of me—even those with no gag reflexes. It doesn’t bother me. I get off whether they pump or suck.
“Princess, I don’t want—”
She gives me a full-on death glare through her lashes. And to spite me, her mouth envelops more of my dick, to the point where I feel myself jammed against the back of her throat. I don’t know how well she can breathe, but her nose is fully nestled in my pubes, and my balls tap her chin as she starts to hollow her cheeks and suck.
“Fuck, Faye. Your mouth is incredible. You’re choking on my dick. I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that,” I groan, my jaw wound so tight that I’m surprised I haven’t cracked enamel yet. It’s criminal the way her tongue swirls and flicks, hurling miniature aftershocks through my entire body.
I thrust forward slightly into her bulging mouth, and she gags a little, a cocktail of my arousal and her spit leaking down her chin. I’m immediately worried that it’s too much, but Faye only needs a moment of composure before she’s slurping up my penis with sloppy, vulgar noises. She isn’t worried about whatshelooks like—she’s only focused on bringing me to the precipice.
While she’s locked around me, her tongue rolls over the sensitive skin on my penis, ironing out the creases there, and my lower body convulses, thrusting into her already-full mouth. There’s a flare burning up in my thighs, making it hard for me to control any of my muscles, and a veil of water manifests in my eyes from the overwhelming sensation.
“You want me to paint your tonsils with my cum?”
Faye unlocks her lips from around my cock, nods obediently, and tongues the ridge of my dick until she reaches my neglected ball sack. She begins to massage my balls in her small hands, kneading the thin flesh there, saliva and pre-cum helping with the friction. Vertigo warps my vision, and the contraction of my abs and the palpitating of my shaft tells me I’m close. But Faye doesn’t stop there. She sucks one of my balls into her mouth, laving the darkened skin and weighing it on her tongue, and that’s when I know I’m done for.
I can’t help the floodgates opening inside of me. With the combination of her sucking my balls and her hand jerking me off, there’s nothing in this world that could stop me from coming all over the bathroom floor.
“Princess, I’m gonna c—”
Still on her knees, she rests the tip of my bursting dick in her mouth, waiting for me to come all down her throat. And that image alone—with her bedroom eyes and pouty lips—has my orgasm hailing through me at immeasurable speeds. My core collapses as illustrious flashes of energy coruscate through me, and then every inch of my body begins to ignite, resulting in a supernova of euphoria strong enough to wipe out my thoughts, my breath, and the very legs I’m standing on.
Ribbons of cum shoot out of me and into Faye’s mouth, splattering a bit on her chin. She swallows down as much as she can, careful not to miss any rogue drops, and once the stream fizzles out, I take a moment to recollect myself.
Faye licks off the mess of milky-white spend all over her lower face, and when she rises to a stance, I wipe off the excess that she forgot.
“You know you didn’t have to do any of that, right?” I say, holding her cheeks in my hands, not caring about the stickiness of her skin or the smell of cum on her breath. To be honest, there’s something sexy about smelling myself all over her.
Her glossy lips ripen into a soft smile. “I know. I wanted to.”
26
DEATH BY DROWNING
FAYE
Idon’t trust the ocean. Only five percent of it has been explored, and the sea floor is crawling with freaky, bioluminescent creatures that look like they’re straight out of a sci-fi movie. But I’d traverse the ocean for Kit. I’d even go as far as dangling my feet in the blacked-out depths for him.
Date after date, sex marathon after sex marathon, we’ve spent a whole week attached to each other’s sides. It started with our book date and our…um…timein the Been There, Bun That bathroom, then he set up a blanket fort and projector in the backyard for a scary movie marathon (which the guys thankfully didn’t find suspicious). And the next day, after treating me to multiple orgasms in the shower, we went on a day trip to San Diego.
I know we can’t really put a label on our relationship, but this isdefinitelyveering into boyfriend-girlfriend territory.
Today marks our fourth consecutive date, and I would’ve been happy just watching some trashy reality television in the living room, but Kit had to pull out all the stops as usual. So he proposed a boat date. A boat that I had no idea was registered in his family’s name and had been gathering dust in the garage this whole time. We eventually got the boat towed to Kit’s Jeep, and we headed westward to Lake Elsinore.
Boats are…romantic, I think? I never really saw them that way, but there is something appealing about being out on the water, miles away from people, and having Kit all to myself.
The end of my sarong billows in the salt-crusted air, the metal from the railing finally beginning to warm underneath my palms. The sun seems to sizzle in the clear blue of the sky, dripping slowly down the bare length of my spine and reflecting in fragmented diamonds off the purling water below. There’s a handful of boats out right now, but I doubt anyone will pay much attention to us.
