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“Fuck,” I growl, grabbing a greedy handful of her and running the pad of my thumb over the scrape of fabric that covers her beautiful, rose petal nipple.
She shivers and presses into my touch, her eyes locking to mine and her hand coming up to graze against the prickly stubble on the side of my cheek.
Her lips part and that’s all the encouragement I need to press my lips onto hers. I waste no time sliding my tongue across the seam of her lips and demanding entry, pressing in to slant my tongue against hers, insatiable.
I groan into mouth when her hand grasps the outline of my throbbing cock in my jeans.
Suddenly, she pulls back. Disappointment needles into me, but it’s dispelled quickly by a naughty glimmer in her eye and a sly grin. She grabs the now-upright box that Salsa’s lying in and walks to her door. “Why don’t you play in the hallway for a little while?” she says, depositing Salsa and her box outside her bedroom door before pushing it closed.
I chuckle. “Don’t want innocent little Salsa to see what’s about to happen?” I ask.
She drops to her knees in front of me, a dirty gleam in her eyes. “I don’t want her thinking you’re hurting me when I make you wrap your fist around my hair so tight that my eyes water.”
I pull in a sharp breath, my cock pulsing with anticipation as she drags her pretty pink tongue across her lips. Then she tilts her chin and says, “Stand up. And get rid of that belt.”
36
SUMMER
Anticipation floods me. I push Hudson’s hands away when he reaches for his belt buckle.
“On second thought,” I say, my voice a teasing lilt, “I’ll do it.”
Slowly, torturously slowly for the grumpy goalie who’s standing straight as a board in front of me, I undo his belt buckle and pull the leather strap out of the loops of his jeans.
After his button’s unclasp, I slowly slide his zipper down, the metallic sound mingling with a frustrated growl from his throat.
“You’re taking your time,” he says. His voice is tense, impatient, making it clear that pure lust is roaring through his veins.
Knowing that it’s me causing that feeling in a man like Hudson makes a sense of power beat in my chest. It’s accompanied by an equally strong throbbing between my thighs, which squeeze together when his undone zipper reveals the outline of his cock straining against his tight, black boxer briefs.
I pull his jeans down his legs, leaving his boxers tight around his waist for now. It’s when I sink my fingertips beneath the waistband, the backs of my fingers scraping against the hot flesh underneath, the brief touch enough to send sparks skittering over my skin, that his hand spears into my hair, curling a handful to steady himself.
I glide the tight, elastic fabric down his trim hips so slowly that his fist tightens in my hair, enough to feel the first delicious pinpricks of pressure on my scalp.
Air whistles through Hudson’s grit teeth when his underwear is pulled low enough for his cock to spring out. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, eyes drinking in the sight of his long, thick manhood throbbing in the air, tilting upward from the strength of his arousal.
I gently wrap my left hand around the base. Excitement gallops through me while I slowly drag my grip up the length of his shaft.
Hudson’s cock is beautiful. Hard as steel yet smooth to the touch. Hot and throbbing in my hand. Flames lick between my legs as I feel the bulging veins and the column on the underside of his dick. I stop just short of the sensitive pink nerve endings underneath his swollen mushroom head.
I ghost the pad of my thumb over his tip, feeling a hint of moisture already. The touch makes Hudson’s muscles tense, and when I glance up there’s a look of agony twitching on his sharp features.
Power. That’s the feeling that rushes through my bloodstream. Hudson’s so much bigger than me. He’s stacked with rippling muscles and could no doubt lift with his pink finger something I couldn’t with both hands.
But when I’m on my knees with his cock in my hands, I’m in control.
“Trying to make me lose my mind?” he asks, a forced smirk on his lips contrasting with the more natural expression of desperate frustration on his brow.
“Maybe,” I sing. Light as I can, I flick the very tip of my tongue over the opening of his head; his salty, sweet flavor suffuses my tastebuds, and pleasure darts through me when my legs pinch together.
“Fuck,” Hudson groans. His muscles coil and his hand tightens in my air, the pressure on my scalp enough to draw the first hot pinpricks to the backs of my eyes.
“Shirt off,” I demand. Hudson wastes no time complying. When Hudson’s shirt is off, I rake my gaze over his tattooed torso. The ink is colorful, dense, intricate, the designs accentuating the natural contours of his muscles.
Now both his hands sink into my hair, grabbing tight handfuls. I take him in my mouth, and he shudders in relief. Curses drop from him as I roll my tight lips down his length. When I swirl my tongue slowly around his head, a tear gathers at the corner of my eye from the tugging on my scalp.
Hudson keeps a tight, firm grip on my hair as I suck him slowly, drawing out his pleasure. His groans are guttural and agonized, and when I slide my tongue over his tip, the breath he sucks in is like a wince.
