Page 62 of Not Before Game Night
“Is this okay?” she cooed.
“Holy fuck, Vanessa, what kind of question is that?”
She giggled and lowered her dark velvet head to my cock. First, she ran her tongue over the length, making me harder, aching for release from the tension that was brimming deep in my balls.
Her fingers continued to stroke until my cock strained upward in a thick curve of arousal nigh on explosion.
By the time she placed that pouty mouth of hers over my shaft, I was ready to climax. That part was just from looking at her.
I had to fight hard to stave off the release because I wanted to enjoy it. Enjoy this, enjoy her loving me with her gorgeous mouth.
She started sucking, her head moving up and down, making me feel so damn good. This always felt good when she did it. Everything felt good when she did it.
Everything felt good with her.
She sucked, taking me so deep into her throat I groaned from the pleasure that washed over my body. Then she added her tongue as she sucked, sucking and licking the tip, desperate to have me.
A deep growl rumbled within my chest as that need to erupt pulsated through me. The pleasure and everything about her was too much. I couldn’t fight it any longer. She sucked harder, speeding up her pace, and when she touched my balls, I knew I’d lose control. And I did. As she cradled my balls, the sweet suction of her mouth became overpowering. Alive with fire, my whole body tensed, and I came, spurting and spilling into her mouth. She held on to me drinking and sucking, allowing her mouth to milk me until she took in everything, including the last pearly drop that lingered on the tip of my cock as she rose.
All I could do was stare at her as she gave me that seductive smile.
Smiling yet holding back. I could see it in her eyes, because I did it too. Held back.
I held back, and yet I wanted her so badly it scared me.
“Feel better?” she asked in that nonchalant way. It was when she did that, that I saw the most emotion. Like silence speaking louder than actual words.
I may not claim to be an artist to the world, but I was one. It flowed through my veins more than football. It was an innate instinct inside me to take note. To pay attention to everything. I knew it more than most that it was the things that weren’t said, or often covered up, that you had to pay the most attention to.
I fixed my pants while she buttoned up her blouse. When she finished, I reached for her and kissed her, but not the way I did before. This was with more passion.
“I’m seeing you later. Don’t say no,” I told her.
She smiled and brushed her nose against mine. “Believe me, I’ve been trying to regain the power to use that word, but you won. Cole, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
I pulled back and beamed at her. “Vanessa, if I wasn’t in trouble, I wouldn’t be Cole Buchanan. Be worried when I’m not in trouble. It’ll be fine, baby.”
She chuckled. “I’m starting to think I should follow you to Philadelphia to keep you on the path of goodness.”
My eyes widened. “Yes, you should come.” I was serious.
“I’m joking. I have to work. You have to play.”
“Fuck work. Come to Philly with me.”
“N…” she began but couldn’t say it.
“Great, babe. I’ll come by later to help you pack.”
“Cole, if my magazine sounds like shit, it will be your fault.”
“Don’t worry, your mom’s a lot easier to deal with than you are.” I gave her my trademark wink as she laughed and got out of the car before she could try to argue. This time though it looked like she might not.
“See you later.”
“See you later,” I replied and willed myself not to look back as I walked away.
I had about two minutes to get on the field.
