Page 142 of The Home Grown
She chuckles.
“Dream Mike was quite bossy,” she says, and with that, I grip her hips and roll her onto her back, falling onto my side so I can see—so I can touch her.
“Was he? I mean, I can be bossy if you want me to—in fact, I?—”
“Mike,” she playfully scolds, planting a kiss on my lips. “Don’t overthink it.”
She’s right. I’m doing that thing—trying to be who I think she wants me to be, trying to appease her. But I want to know. I want to understand what she likes, what she doesn’t like, what gets her hot, what triggers the breaks. And then I realise there’s literally so much about her I don’t know. What’s her favourite colour? I want to say purple because I get that feeling. The towel she gave me last night was a Cadbury purple, matching the bathmat, so that’s a pointer, right?
I push my thoughts aside as I kiss her back, nibbling on her lip.
“Why don’t you take these off and let me see all of you?” I run my hands over the crotch of her underwear, revelling in the fact she shivers underneath me.
I kiss herneck, breathing in the sweetness of her skin, while she wriggles her underwear down. I have to steady myself … count to ten, tell myself that it’s not time yet as my dick throbs between us.
Honestly, if she touches me again, I’m done for. The last time I came was the time we had sex.
I shift my weight, gearing myself up to move after kissing her again. Lips, throat, neck, collarbone…
“Where are you going?” she says, her breath catching as I move away.
“I’m going to make my wife come on my tongue—maybe my fingers too, depending on what you like. Unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”
She lets out a low hum as I kiss her thighs, excited by how much I’m going to enjoy them wrapped around my head. I honestly enjoy going down on a woman—always have, and probably always will, but for some reason, this time I feel nervous. There’s a tingling in my stomach—butterflies of anxiety dance around because there’s a question floating on the edge of my mind: what if I can’t make her cum like this?
Except, I don’t get much time to dwell on that because I glimpse her pussy, practically glistening and I’m pushing her legs apart before I can doubt my ability further.
Her clit, hard and so damn inviting, has my mouth watering and my dick painfully hard. I plant one last kiss on the very inside of her thigh before setting my tongue on her pussy, licking tentatively at her clit to see how she responds.
“Oh, my?—”
Her hands bolt to grip my hair, which only encourages me further, working my tongue in a rhythm before I get my fingers involved.
“Is the pressure good?” I ask. “Do you need some—” I slip my middle finger into her pussy, feeling her clench around me. Tight. Hot. And really fucking wet. And if I wasn’t so invested in how good she tastes, I’d be begging to fuck her.
“Mike—”
I position my lips to suck on her clit, slowly working my finger in and out as I do.
“Mike—”
I swear to God I feel her clit throbbing against my tongue as her hands grip my hair firmly. Then she cries out, clamping her thighs around my head and honestly—I’ve died and gone to heaven and I groan as I come right there. On the sheets.
Oh, fuck.
It was the sounds, the way she was shaking…
“Oh, my?—”
“Okay?” I ask.
“I—”
She’s breathing heavy, laboured gasps as she catches her breath. And I plant a last kiss on her thigh before going back to her clit.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she breathes.
“You are.You did.This is what I needed.”
