Page 53 of Pucking the Single Dad
"I need to taste you. Need to bury my face in this sweet pussy and make you scream." The words were filthy, unfiltered, and they hit me like a spark to dry tinder—my clit pulsed, a fresh gush of wetness soaking through my panties.
He didn't wait for an answer; he shoved the skirt up to my waist, exposing the black lace clinging to my hips, the damp spot obvious even in the low light. His fingers hooked into the waistband, dragging them down my legs with agonizing slowness, the cool air hitting my slick folds like a tease. I kicked them off impatiently, spreading wide, knees falling open as he settled between my thighs.
His breath ghosted over me first—hot, deliberate puffs that made me shiver, my pussy muscles clenching around nothing. I propped up on my elbows, watching him through half-lidded eyes, the sight of his broad shoulders forcing my legs apart, his dark hair tousled from my hands, nearly undoing me. Then his tongue flicked out, a feather-light touch along the outer lips, tracing the seam with the flat of it, lapping up the arousal already coating me.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against my skin as he delved deeper, slow, deliberate strokes that parted me open.
I whimpered, head falling back as he explored—circling my entrance, dipping just the tip inside before retreating, building the ache until I was canting my hips, begging wordlessly.
"Please, Brad—more." My voice cracked on the plea, and he obliged, his lips closing around my clit with gentle suction that sent sparks exploding behind my eyelids. Light at first, a teasing pull, then harder, his tongue flicking rapidly over the bundle of nerves while he hummed low in his throat.
The vibration was devastating, a deep thrum that resonated through me, coiling tension tighter in my core. One hand pinned my hip down, callused fingers digging into soft flesh to still my thrashing, while the other slid two fingers alongside his tongue—thick, insistent, curling upward to stroke that spongy spot inside me that made everything go white-hot. He thrust them in rhythm with his licks, fucking me shallow and deep, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, mingling with my ragged gasps and his muffled groans.
It built fast, too fast—a tidal wave cresting, pleasure sharpening to a razor's edge. My walls fluttered around his fingers, clenching as he crooked them just right, his mouth relentless on my clit, sucking and swirling until I shattered.
"Brad—oh God, yes!" The cry tore from me, raw and unrestrained, as the orgasm ripped through, waves of ecstasy crashing over me in shuddering pulses. My juices flooded his mouth, thighs quaking around his head, and he didn't stop—lapping me through it, drawing out every aftershock until I was a boneless, panting mess.
Dazed, I hauled him up by the hair, crushing our mouths together in a messy, desperate kiss. I tasted myself on his tongue—tart and musky, mingled with his warmth—and it only made me hungrier. Our teeth clashed, breaths heaving as I flipped us with a surge of adrenaline, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. He landed on his back with a grunt of surprise that melted into a grin, hands settling on my hips as I ground down against the bulge straining his jeans.
"My turn," I whispered, nipping his jaw, and his laugh was dark, approving.
I made quick work of his belt, the leather whispering free before I popped the button and tugged the zipper down, freeinghim inch by veined inch. His cock sprang up, thick and heavy, curving slightly toward his navel, the flushed head already glistening with pre-cum.
I wrapped my hand around the base, skin velvet over steel, stroking slow from root to tip, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of moisture. He twitched in my grip, a hiss escaping through clenched teeth, hips jerking up into my fist. Leaning down, I let my breath fan over him first—teasing, watching the way he throbbed in anticipation—before swirling my tongue around the crown, savoring the salty tang.
Inch by inch, I took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth until he nudged the back of my throat. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard on the upstroke, my hand twisting in tandem while the other cupped his balls, feeling them draw tight.
"Fuck, Serena—your mouth," he groaned, fingers tangling in my hair—not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as I set a rhythm.
Bobbing steady, I alternated. Long, languid licks along the underside, tracing the thick vein pulsing there, then rapid, focused sucks on the frenulum, my tongue fluttering until his thighs tensed under me. Saliva dripped down his shaft, slicking my hand as I pumped what I couldn't take, the wet glides echoing my own arousal.
I deep-throated him again, relaxing my jaw, gagging just enough to make it filthy, tears pricking my eyes from the stretch. The vibration of my hum around him drew a string of curses from his lips—"Fuck, yes, just like that"—his body coiling tighter, breaths coming in sharp pants.
I could feel him teetering, the telltale twitch against my tongue, and redoubled my efforts—sucking harder. He shatteredwith a guttural roar, hips bucking as hot spurts flooded my mouth, coating my tongue in thick, salty ropes. I swallowed greedily, milking him with firm strokes until he was spent, shuddering through the last pulses, his grip in my hair loosening to a tender caress.
We collapsed together then, a sweaty tangle of limbs on the wrecked sheets, his arm draping heavy over my waist as our heartbeats slowed from gallop to trot. I nuzzled into his chest, inhaling the musk of us, sated and sticky, a lazy smile curving my lips.
"That," I murmured, tracing idle patterns on his skin, "was worth the wait."
Chapter 18: Serena
Three days. Three days of careful distance, stolen glances, and conversations that died before they started. The intimate night after the Pattersons' visit had shattered something between us, and neither Brad nor I seemed to know how to navigate the debris.
I stood at the kitchen sink, mechanically washing dishes while Brad helped Finn with math homework at the table. The domestic scene was so normal it hurt—except for the way Brad hadn't met my eyes since Tuesday, except for how he'd found excuses to leave any room I entered.
"Carry the seven, buddy," he said softly, his patience with Finn never wavering even as tension rolled off him in waves.
"Miss Serena taught me a trick for that!" Finn's voice rang bright as a bell in our careful quiet. "She says the seven's a mountain climber who needs to reach the next peak!"
Brad's gaze flickered to me for a microsecond before returning to the worksheet. "That's... that's a good trick."
"The best tricks usually are," I said quietly, drying a plate with unnecessary focus.
The silence stretched until Finn asked, "Why are you and Dad being weird?"
"We're not—" we both started simultaneously, then stopped, the synchronization highlighting exactly how weird we were being.
"I'm going to Aiden and Ava’s house," Finn announced with the exasperation only a seven-year-old could master. "You two need to use your words like you tell me to."
