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“Yeah right,” he growled. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
He lifted his head to catch my nipple in his mouth. The wet warmth of his tongue sent electrical currents of need zipping through my bloodstream. His back arched off the mattress as I buffed my clit against his sensitive cockhead. I was used to masturbating on my back. Riding my father like this took a bit more effort, but the view was definitely worth it. It reminded me of humping a beloved stuffed animal, only hotter and slipperier, with way more direct pressure on my clit.
“I’m close.” I rocked my hips, letting the tension build. “Just one more minute.”
“Whatever you need, baby.” He licked and sucked my nipple, and the coalescing of pleasure from above and below made my stomach flutter.
I closed my eyes. “Oh, that. Keep doing that.”
He trailed kisses across my breasts, catching my other nipple with his teeth. His cock throbbed beneath me. It must’ve been torture, holding back his own release while I used him to get myself off. Clit pulsing, pussy dripping... I held his face with both hands and kissed his lips, recalling our first kiss and how it had changed everything. I thought about his cock and how close it was to my opening, how all it would take for it to slip inside me was one miscalculated thrust.
My orgasm flashed through me like lightning. I whimpered into his mouth. He slipped his tongue between my lips and tasted me, his muscles tense with the effort it must have taken to hold off from coming.
I took a moment to catch my breath.
“Okay,” I said. “Your turn.”
I slid down his body and grasped his cock, slick and hard like granite against my palm. I painted my lips with the drop of precum beading at the tip, then took the head into my mouth. He tasted sweet and tangy, a flavor I’d come to recognize as my own. I bobbed my head, taking as much of him as I could fit without gagging.
“Fuck me,” he growled, his fingers closing around my hair.
I released him with a wet pop.
“Is that a request?” I asked, gently cupping his balls the way he liked them to be cupped. He made a sound like a moan and a snarl combined. His whole body shuddered as I tongued the small slit at the tip of his cock. I was getting good at this.
“Careful,” he said, “or you’ll get a facial instead of a mouthful.”
I flashed him a wicked smile. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Gripping his shaft, I wrapped my lips around him and resumed sucking him off, relishing the salt of him mixed with my own sweetness. I loved the sounds he made and the musky scent of his sweat. I knew exactly where he liked to be licked and how hard to suck.
As with everything else involving my father, I couldn’t get enough. It was like I’d been born to do this and I supposed, in a way, I had.
Precum leaked onto my tongue and down the back of my throat. His cock was thick. I had to be thoughtful about my positioning so I didn’t end up with a sore jaw. His gaze never left my face. Sometimes he admitted to wishing he were a photographer, so he could instantly capture these moments without having to pause.
More than once I thought about suggesting we make a video, like the one he’d made with my mother, but I was afraid mentioning her would be like summoning her presence into the room. I didn’t want her here any more than I wanted to move back home.
My father’s grip tightened around my hair. He was close. I could tell by the shallowness of his breathing and the way his hips bucked with each swipe of my tongue. This was by far my favorite part, watching and hearing and feeling him lose his composure in the seconds before he was about to blow. I sucked harder and faster, using my hand as an extension of my mouth, and listened for the helpless panting, felt the sudden swelling of his cock.
Hot, salty cum gushed over my tongue and splattered my throat. I swallowed. He loved it when I swallowed, and I loved anything that allowed me to take parts of him inside me.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Paige… Baby.”
I held him in my mouth as he softened, then let him slip out. Quiet as a cat, I crawled up the bed and settled into the crook of his arm. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead, my right cheek, then my left.
“Shit,” he said. I’d come to learn that excessive swearing before, during and shortly after orgasm was just one of his quirks. “How’d you get so good at that?”
I nuzzled his neck. “Natural talent. Though it helps to have a patient and thorough teacher.”
“If only every student exhibited your boundless enthusiasm.”
It was true. I had taken to practicing the art of the blow job like mastering a new creative medium, always ready and eager to drop to my knees, and not just in the bedroom. Likewise, my father was an expert at cunnilingus. He could make me come in under three minutes using only the very tip of his tongue. But he much preferred to draw it out, to watch me sweat and squirm.
“What time is it?” he asked.
I grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “Almost five o’clock.”
“We should get up.” He rolled on top of me and buried his face in the hair at my neck. “Remind me again why we should get up.”
