Page 42 of Skyn
“Have you…has your mouth ever kissed a man’s shaft?”
He looks embarrassed, and I don’t want that between us. “Tell me what you want, and I will do it.” I wrap my hand around his thick cock, stroking steadily as he pushes into my grip. The platinum veinsthrobbeneath my palm, and the taut muscles of his stomachtightenwith effort.
“Can you please put your mouth on me?”
The words are strained, almost reverent.
I lean in, letting my lips glide over the dark, flushed head—weeping, almost unbearably beautiful.
The second it touches my tongue, itjumps—a sharp, reactive twitch. The sensation is electric, and my throat tightens against the sudden rush of saliva. It’s growing, getting even larger in my mouth, and I struggle to adjust my jaw.
Panic and pleasure war within me, and I suck him, hard. Ben writhes, and I let my teeth graze the quicksilver veins.
A salty-sweet syrup oozes from the head, coating my throat. And it throbs again, harder this time. His cock is stretching the limits of my mouth, its warmth pressing against the roof of it, the back of my teeth, until the edges of my lips burn with strain. My breath hitches as Ben pushes insistently toward my throat, probing, moaning, and guiding himself deeper.
“Take it all in that pretty little mouth of yours.”
I need the encouragement. I try. I really do. But the pressure builds fast, too fast—his thick length pushing against my throat—and panic sweeps in, hot and sudden. I gag, eyes watering, and wrench my head back with a gasp. His cock slips free, wet and gleaming, resting heavy against my chin. Nothing that huge and pulsing has ever been anywhere near me. Ben pulls me up and covers my mouth with his. He weaves trembling fingers into the cloud of my hair and says my name again like a prayer.
His voice wraps around me like a vise, and all I want is to make this machine beg for me. There’s nothing like this feeling. He moves his dick between my thighs.
“This is how you saved me,” he said, “giving me your soft body every night. I remember, Fawl. I remember you trembling for me.”
My hand shakes as I press my palm against his platinum chest. The metal is warm—no, hot, like he’s burning from the inside out—and beneath it, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“Fawl,” he murmurs. His breath hitches when I slide my hand up, feeling the cords of his neck pulse underneath my fingers.
He pulls me closer, pinning me against the furnace of his chest. His cock presses hard between us—slick, insistent, radiating heat like contraband smuggled under fabric
He cups the underside of my breast, lifting it slightly, watching as it swells upward. When my nipple peeks out from beneath the glittering cloth, dark and tight like the moon of ome istant planet, he groans, such a raw, sound for a refined machine to make. His lips trail down my jaw, my throat, each kiss softer than the last but no less consuming. I feel his breath—ragged and searing—ghosting across my chest, making me arch instinctively toward him.
He glides the tip of his cock along the wet mess he has made of my pussy, murmuring my name. Coaxing me open.
Slowly, he guides himself into me. Whispering about how perfect I am, how soft. He wants all of me. He needs me.
The thick head presses deeper a slow, stretching intrusion that makes me gasp. I clench around the impossible fullness, trying to adjust, trying to breathe. He groans as he inches deeper, easing out just enough to hear the obscene, wet sound of it.
That noise alone makes him shudder.
“I’m going to try to control—” he chokes, but I arch into him, wrap my legs around his waist, and pull him closer.
It breaks him.
“Oh fuck—you’re gripping me everywhere… Fawl, please…”
His voice unravels, collapsing into gasps and fragments. Desperate. Disarmed.
“More. Don’t stop. I need—just—give me everything…” He’s begging me like I’m hiding more pussy in a closet somewhere. I realize that I’m shutting my eyes when he lifts my chin to kiss me. I blink open and he is there.
God’s above.
He’s beautiful to me. His face is flushed, eyes glassy, but it’s the look underneath that undoes me—like I’m the only damned thing he’s ever truly seen.
And in that instant, I swear I fall again—hopelessly, shamelessly, entirely—for this man fitting himself inside me.
He sinks again into my sweet, hot center. And I part easier this time, eagerly. The tight heat he finds makes him close his eyes as if in prayer and draw deeper. I rock my hips to fit more of him; I’m so painfully full.
I feel the platinum veins throb. I’m wet and stretched, and the sound he makes as he seats himself deep inside me vibrates in my chest.
