Page 34 of Shut Up and Score
My hips twitch at the words. My fingers curling tighter around myself. Another bubble pops up immediately after.
SmokeScreen77: Bet it feels even better when someone else wraps their lips around it.
You want that, don’t you? Want me to do it?
To suck you until you forget your own name?
I choke on air.
SmokeScreen77: Say the word, and I’ll dream about it tonight. Hell, I might already be.
I’m overheating. My hand clenches. My brain short-circuits. And still—still—I’m somehow harder than I was five minutes ago.
Another message buzzes in:
SmokeScreen77: Or maybe you’re too shy to tell me what you really want. Maybe you want more than just my mouth. Tell me, Golden. I’ll be whatever fantasy you need tonight.
I exhale sharply, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I shouldn’t. But my body’s already answering for me.
Me: I want all of it. Your mouth. Your hands. Your tongue.
I want to forget everything but the way you make me feel.
Tell me what it'd be like.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly. And I already know—I’m not sleeping tonight.
The typing bubble flickers, disappears, then comes back again.
SmokeScreen77: First, I’d take my time. Let you lie back for me, already hard, already aching.
I’d kiss down your chest, slow… memorizing you with my mouth.
Then I’d wrap my fingers around your cock.
Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to make you twitch.
I swallow hard, breath caught in my throat as the next messages comes in.
SmokeScreen77: I wouldn’t rush. I’d want to hear it—every breath, every curse, every soft fucking moan you make when I drag my tongue across your slit.
And when I finally take you into my mouth? You wouldn’t last long. But I’d swallow every goddamn drop like you were the only thing I’d been hungry for all night.
My hips lift off the bed. My hand works faster. God. This guy is going to ruin me.
Another message blinks through, as if he knows.
SmokeScreen77: Touching yourself for me again, Golden? Wish I could watch. Wish I could make you fall apart with nothing but my mouth.
I groan—out loud. I don’t even try to muffle it.
Me: I’m close. Fuck. Say something else. Anything. Make me come.
The typing bubble comes back instantly.
SmokeScreen77: Imagine me on my knees. Hands spreading your thighs. You’re shaking. Begging. And I look up at you and say,
“Come for me, baby. Make a mess just for me.”
