My words wash over her, and I watch as she shivers. Fully clothed.
On her knees for me.
And I know she’s dripping wet.
It’s like I can smell her arousal filling the room.
“Careful,” I warn her, “I’m too fucking close.”
I swear my woman smirks around my cock and doubles her efforts. Her saliva coats my dick as she strokes me faster. When she takes me just a little bit deeper and almost gags, I hold her in place for a beat.
Her eyes widen, but I don’t see panic there.
Fuck. Good.
“One day I’ll fuck your pretty little throat,” I growl, the words a warning and a promise. “I’ll hold your head in place and use your mouth just as roughly as I use your sweet pussy.”
Graycie moans around my cock and it does something wicked to me. My fingers tighten in her hair and I pant out, “You’re going to swallow everything I give you.”
It’s the only warning I give her as I hold her steady as my balls draw up and the first jet of cum fills her mouth.
“Fuck, yes,” I groan, “take my cum, Angel.”
And she does.
Not only does she swallow every drop, but she cleans me up. Very thoroughly.
After I tuck myself back into my jeans, I tug her up into my lap and wrap her up in my arms. She snuggles against my chest, and I’ve completely forgotten why I was pissed about her showing up.
Not really, but that doesn’t mean I’m not glad she’s here.
I’m fucking ecstatic.
“You seem to be in a much better mood,” my woman teases.
I smile at her and press a kiss to her forehead. “How could I not? You’re here.”
“I’m sure the blow job helped,” she snarks.
I chuckle and wink at her before standing up and putting her down but holding her hips until I know she’s steady. “How about I take you to lunch, Graycie?”
She arches an eyebrow in challenge. “What? Like a date?”
“I don’t need the label because every moment I spend with you is special,” I tell her honestly.
Her eyes soften as she looks at me before sliding her arm around my waist and leaning into me. “You’re sweet.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” I whisper-yell at her and she giggles.
Her voice is hopeful, “Can we go to Dolly’s? I want to see Stan, I haven’t in a few days, and I really want a grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
My face pinches and I’m sure I sound dumbfounded, “I thought you hated tomatoes.”
“I do,” she deadpans.
“You do know what is in tomato soup, don’t you?”
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “I do not like to eat just a tomato, or have slices of them on, well, basically anything. But when it comes to ketchup or marinara sauce, or tomato soup, they are transformed tomatoes. Which makes them different,” she explains like the words she’s saying are completely logical and understandable.