I pull back with a wet pop, stroking him firmly with my hand while I catch my breath, then dive back in. I alternate between long, slow licks along the ladder—feeling each barbell under my tongue—and frantic sucking that has him bucking harder.
I let him set the pace, my jaw loosening, my throat opening as much as it can to take him fully.
My core throbs. I can feel how wet I am, slick and aching, desperate for friction.
“Yeah,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck—.” His movements turn rougher. More urgent. His breathing breaks.
I take him deeper, pushing past the discomfort, letting my nose brush his skin as I swallow around him.
That does it.
His whole body tenses. “Fuck, I’m?—”
His thighs tense under my touch, muscles coiling like springs, and I know he’s close.
I hollow my cheeks again, sucking with everything I have, my hand twisting at the base in time with my mouth.
He thrusts deep, holding me there as he comes. Hot and thick, flooding my mouth in pulses, hitting the back of my throat.
I swallow what I can, taking what he gives me. The briny taste coats my tongue and slides down my throat, but some of it spills out anyway, seeping past my lips, dripping down my skin in sticky trails.
His hips continue to buck as the final waves of his orgasm run their course, each thrust shallower than the last until he’s spent, his cock softening slightly in my mouth.
I finally pull back, gasping for air.
A string of saliva and cum stretches between us—then snaps.
He looks down at me, chest heaving, eyes blown wide.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice low and wrecked. “I like the way you look with my cum all over your mouth, my dirty little stray.”
His words, his voice deep and low, send bolts of electricity to my nipples and my core.
My body is on fire—nipples hard, pussy throbbing, wetness soaking through my panties, thighs slick.
I lick my lips, tasting him again.
“I’d love to reciprocate,” he says, voice still rough, stepping closer, his hand brushing under my chin, tilting my face up. “Because I can’t stop thinking about the way your pussy tastes.”
My breath catches.
His thumb drags across my lower lip, smearing the last of his release.
“But,” he adds, a hint of amusement slipping back in as he glances at his watch, “we need to get you to the airport if you’re going to catch this flight.”
He tucks himself back into his sweatpants, then grabs me by my hair and pulls me to my feet.
Reality crashes back in.
My stomach drops.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 23
IVY
At the airport, once again, he doesn’t let me carry my backpack.