Page 71 of His Nephew's Ex
“Open your mouth,” he commands.
I obey without pause, opening my mouth wide and waiting for him to push himself deep. The head settles on my lower lip. More moisture leaks from him, and his scent invades my senses. My blood quickens as my tongue delves past my lips, capturing the precum glistening in the firelight.
There’s so much of him. Salty and potent. Something about the taste of him, the essence of him, makes me hot and heavy, greedy.
One brush, another, his cock resting on my lip, and then he pulls back. He’s savoring this, the wait, tormenting me with my need and ensuring his satisfaction. His hand wraps around his shaft, sliding up and down, working into his thick length. My tongue still reaches for him, hungry.
Finally, a smile slides across his face, and he pushes forward again. This time, there’s no tease, only wet heat, pleasure. He makes me take him, all of him. Thrusting his way in. So far, so good. I suck down the salty slash of this primal man, and want more. More.
The head of his rock-hard cock bumps the back of my throat, and his thickness nearly tears it apart. Pleasure/pain floods his face, eyes hooded with decadent, dark satisfaction. My gaze meets his as his head pops out. Involuntarily, I strain against his grip, hungry for a deeper taste.
His next thrust pushes me farther, and my face is almost buried in his abdomen, one, two, three... I can’t breathe, can’t, but he only drives his way in. Until I know he’s in my throat, cutting off every rational thought and reducing me to sucking, bobbing, and hollowing out my cheeks.
He increases the tempo, no longer kind or considerate, giving his need complete freedom. Faster and rougher, harder. Over and over, every pounding drag of his shaft stretching my lips, hurting them, forcing me open until it threatens to undo me.
Then his cock swells. A strangled sound from his lips cuts through the air. His hands clench at his sides.
And he pulls out fast.
His eyes closed hard as if he’s fighting for control. And that small act, his desire burning bright enough that his body needs to fight its natural urges—the surrender, the lack of trust, the possibilityof truly being his, wanting to be his, makes emotion roll over me with such overwhelming speed that I nearly weep.
“Don’t move,” he manages in a low, deep rasp. “Don’t fucking move.”
His eyes flutter open, and the sight of his swollen shaft is enough to make me choke back a whimper. Precum glistens off his length, coating the ridges. Bulging veins run through its length. One side of his mouth twitches into a half smile.
“I don’t want the night to end like this,” he confesses. “I want to fuck you the way you deserve. The way you need.”
A gentle nudge pushes me away from the headboard. He undoes the belt from my wrists and pulls me lower down the bed. He climbs on top of me, his erection pressing against my inner thigh. He cups the sides of my face, devouring me with another rough kiss that echoes the raw hunger between us.
Wanting skin on skin, contact, connection, I wrap myself around him, twisting my legs and reaching for the ridges in his back. Squeezing his shoulders, I lift myself up, meeting his tongue with a kiss, enjoying the smoothness of his muscles. His thumb trails my cheek, brushing his finger across my jaw, my neck. Finally. His touch is liquid, soothing and sensual, a welcome caress before he lowers himself over my aching sex.
I’m ready. And I’m not. I will gladly open to him.
My arms remain locked, holding onto the slick skin across his back. Pulling him in, closer, kissing the hot crook of his neck, my pulse jumping everywhere he moves.
His hardness nudges my folds, thick and unyielding, and the promise of all that is soon to be mine makes a low keening sound unfurl in my throat. My thighs part as far as they can go, his weight settling above me, and then he pushes in.
My first orgasm meant nothing because now I can’t remember any other pleasure compared to this sensation. Taut, thick, the ridge of his head pushing into my depths and sinking. And when his pelvis eases between my legs, a low groan leaves his mouth. We fit, connected in every inch. I suck in a harsh breath, and his thumb rises to caress my lip, prompting a nip. He laughs softly, a purely joyous sound, and I feel the vibration all the way down to my toes.
Infinite power ripples through the moment. His mouth returns to mine, and his tongue strokes across my lips. A lazy slide back and forth, the tease, the torment, I groan. Then his rhythm, it returns and burns me anew.
Strong. Hard. Slow, deep grinds.
Each thrust is unrelenting. Powerful. Heavy balls slapping against me with each vicious reentry. Gritty growls issue from his lips.
“So good. So tight,” he whispers into my mouth, the words a brand I want across my soul.
Everything aches. Sensitive, achy. Melting. His hand strokes my hair, tangling within the strands. Then he lifts, rolls to his back, his hand cradling my hips. Straddling him now, the reverse, I’m filled, possessed. Every pinnacle and valley on my sex creates intense friction against him.
“You have to move,” he rasps. “Take the pain and the pleasure. Demand it.”
Bracing my hands on his chest, I begin my own slow strokes. Pulling him out of my body, then pulling him right back in. On and on. I learn the movement, his secrets. Feel the shift within my body, the gradual build of tremors, and quakes.
Surges of pleasure intensify the experience. A strange pressure releases, and he rises, sliding a hand to my ass, kneading as I ride him. Over and over. He sucks the column of my throat, biting down.
“Use me,” he commands, sounding wrecked. “Don’t fucking stop.”
We find our pace together, hungry and wild. This orgasm is primal and desperate and full of so much promise. Hot breaths echo between us. I find the hard edge of his chest. Spread my thighs wide and dig my nails in, just enough to bite. With my head thrown back, my hips frantic, faster, more.
