Page 63 of Twisted Shot
Her mouth turns dry as his tongue darts out and licks his palm before returning it to his thick, waiting erection.
His hulking frame leans toward the camera as his other hand grips the table his phone is propped up on. His throat bobs as he swallows and slides his saliva-soaked hand back into his boxers.
“Take it out,” Mila murmurs. “I want to see you.”
His responding groan is pure masculinity. She holds her breath as he pulls out his cock, pumping it up and down slowly. He’s thick and long, with the tip glistening.
Sweet Christ, he’s a masterpiece.
“Like what you see, Daisy?”
Every muscle in his stomach is taught as he rolls his hips, thrusting into his fist. The pearl of wetness at the head of his cock teases her, and she licks her lips before replying.
“You know I do.”
She’s whimpering now, squirming and writhing herhips to chase the sensation between her thighs. She feels the settings change again, and the new speed sends sharp bursts of pleasure through her body.
“That’s my tongue against you, baby. I’m making an absolute mess of you. You taste so damn good. Fuck, I would die a happy man if you let me taste you. If you let me lap at your pussy until you screamed and pulled my hair,” he pants.
Oh my God, the mouth on this man,Mila thinks. He makes her feel so fucking sexy. Like a goddess.
But he’s not done.
“I want to see you touch those magnificent tits. Play with them. God damn, I dream of your tits, Daisy. Of pushing them together and sliding my cock between them.”
“Oh god,” she moans, palming and squeezing her breasts. She pulls down a black lace cup of her bra and pinches her nipple, arching her back in pleasure. Rolling her hips against the vibrator, she feels her orgasm building, intensifying.
The Man in Black is pumping his dick faster now, his hips bucking forward. His teeth sink into his lip to stifle a groan, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the light stubble beneath his mask.
“Fuck. Come for me, Daisy. Let me see you come apart.”
Mila cries out as white-hot pleasure blazes through her. Every thought flees her mind, leaving only ecstasy behind.
The setting changes again, this time so powerful it borders on the cusp between pain and intense pleasure.
“Again. I want another one,” he pants.
“Please, please, please,” Mila babbles. She’s right on the edge of another orgasm, so overwhelming that she’s writhing on the bed, clutching the phone in her sweaty hand. Her thighs are shaking and slick as she bucks them into the air.
The Man in Black’s pace ratchets up, and he’s cursing and groaning low and fierce as he nears his own release. Mila watches, riveted, as every hard edge of him grows tight as he pulls at his length savagely. He curses before growling, “Daisy” as his release surges from his swollen cock.
The sound he makes completely undoes her. Her moans blur together into one long, shaking sob, as another orgasm chases the first one, ripping through her and causing her to clench andwrithe. She rides the wave, hips thrusting, breath stuttering until she’s little more than a puddle, her entire body liquid.
The vibrator prolongs the blissful sensation, and she lets it go on. After a few seconds, or maybe hours, Mila returns to reality and feels the toy shut off inside her. The Man in Black is murmuring praise that her brain barely registers.
“Good girl, Daisy,” he breathes, voice thick and warm, the modulation softer now. Almost tender. “You’re perfect.”
Mila lies back against the pillows, her skin flushed, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven pulls. She blinks through the blissed-out haze clouding her vision, everything slightly dreamlike and overstimulated.
He had just talked her through not one, but two devastating, pulse-obliterating orgasms. No one had ever done that to her. Not like this. Not with just words, low and filthy and reverent all at once. Like he worships her. Like he knows her.
She’s never felt sexier. Never felt more wanted.
But now, as the aftershocks fade and reality claws its way back in, so does the ache. The need to know if the man in the mask is the same man she watched at the arena tonight.
“Please,” she whispers, “take off your mask.”
On screen, he’s still—arms tense, the cowl and half-mask shadowing his face. She can’t see his eyes clearly, but she feels the weight of them.
