Page 118 of ILY
I squeeze his dick hard, and he grunts. I do it again, and he shifts his hips forward. It seems Roman is a needy slut. He hides behind that anger, but he wants it. He wants me. And he hates that he does.
I smash my lips onto his again and kiss him roughly before shoving him to his knees.
He stares up at me. He can move if he wants, he can break free and leave without even trying…but he doesn’t.
My hand threads through his hair, holding on to him roughly. His lashes flutter, his cheeks red.
‘Suck me,’ I fingerspell.
His nostrils flare, and his hands move up to my pants, undoing them with trembling fingers.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe…
He suddenly stops what he’s doing and fumbles around in his pocket. I watch as he hands me his phone.
I take it and watch as he tells me, ‘Film.’
My cock throbs at the thought, swiping up and pulling up a recording. I angle it at him on his knees, his eyes flashing to meet mine. Then he takes me out and strokes. My vision goes blurry as I feel his hand on me. A man’s hand.
It’s nothing like I expected, but in the best fucking way. He has the hands of a man who’s never done any manual work, but there’s no denying who he is. What he is. Just like when he kissed me. His face is shaved, but there was a hint of raw, rough stubble that coasted over my jawline, and fuck. I want more.
I want him.
He smirks up at me like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and I hate him a little for it. I hate that he’s creating this new feeling inside me.
Rude little fucker.
Oh well. He can make it up to me by sucking my cock real good.
I wrench his head forward slightly, and he falls onto my dick, sucking the head into his mouth, his lips spread wide. He moans, a sweet sound as he takes more of me, pulling me as far as he can until he starts to choke. But even then, he doesn’t let up.
He stares up at me, and as if trying to show off, deep-throats me until he’s nearly gagging. There are tears in his eyes, and Iswipe my thumb through one of them as it escapes, making him moan louder.
My cock nearly erupts right then and there. My hands tremble, my mouth opening in a groan as he swallows around me. Then he pulls off, pulls in a breath, and does it again. And again.
I just stare, watching as he eagerly takes me.
And when I feel my orgasm barreling through me, I tap him on the shoulder as a warning, but all he does is suck harder. I erupt into his mouth, my cum falling onto his chin, his neck.
I stare down at him, and he matches my gaze. I can’t believe it. I fucking can’t. But then again. I can.
This has been brewing for a while now. Never did anything about it until now. Alcohol has given me the courage to take him the way I want him. And it seems it was the same for him.
I reach down and wrench him up, seeing the bulge in his pants, and spin him around, setting the phone on the counter and making sure it’s facing us so it can capture what I’m about to do.
He tries to move away from me, but I hold on to him tightly, smearing my mess on his chin and neck up across his lips. Then I tilt his head and kiss him again, rough and sloppy. His moans move into my mouth and down my throat as I pull his cock out.
It falls into my hand, and I stroke, feeling his entire body tremble as I bring him toward the edge. But I don’t let him fall over.
Instead, when I feel him start to pant, I stop, raking my nails up his chest, pulling his shirt up with them. He groans, angry and needy. I wrench the wet fabric from his body and tweak his nipples.
His head falls to my shoulder, and I bite down on his ear, making him shudder.
Stroking him again, I keep going—hard and fast until he’s close to the edge…and then I stop, tugging on his balls and rolling them in my palm.
“Fuck,” he growls, the word thick in the back of his throat.
I have no actual clue what the fuck I’m doing, but clearly, it’s working because instead of pulling back, he pushes against me harder.
