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“Well,” I say, climbing into his lap to straddle him, “I’m right here. What are you going to do with me, Mr. Archer?”
“Tease you,” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss my shoulder. “Taste you.” He kisses me again. “Devour you”—another kiss—“please you”—another—“worship you.” He continues with this process, kissing, biting, and licking me all over as he tells me the ways he plans to explore my body.
As he undresses, I half expect him to tie my hands with his tie or spank me with his belt, but he does neither. He takes his time with me, trailing kisses over every inch of my body, his tongue dancing between my folds and around my clit as he brings me to orgasm once and then slides his fingers inside me to make me come again.
It’s not rushed or aggressive; it’s slow and languid, my pleasure building between each release slowly. I reach my hand down between us, wrapping my fingers around his rigid cock; they don’t come close to touching. I stroke him, a hiss falling from his lips.
“I want to taste you,” I say in his ear, gently biting his earlobe.
I don’t wait for permission. I slide down his body, taking his cock in my hand as I swirl my tongue around the tip. A bead of precum hits my tongue and I close my eyes, savoring his taste as I wrap my lips around him.
He groans, his head falling back as he props himself up on his elbows to look down his body to watch me. His thick thighs are tense beneath me. I look up his body, his chiseled abs flexing as his hand comes down to settle on the back of my head.
“Ohhh, sweetheart,” he moans, and it makes me even wetter. I love the way he calls me little terms of endearment but especially when we’re being intimate. Is it the daddy issues? Probably but I don’t let myself linger too much on the thought.
I’m getting into a rhythm when I feel his hands under my arms and he’s lifting me off him, rolling me to the side as he gets off the bed and stands.
“Fuck!” he shouts, his hands behind his head as he paces next to the bed. His cock is standing straight up, bouncing with the movement as his chest rises and falls rapidly.
“Did I do?—”
“No.” He half laughs, looking down his body. He drags his hand down his chest to grip himself as he looks at me. “You did nothing wrong, baby.” He steps to me, his hand reaching down to cup my jaw as he drags his thumb over my lip. “I was just about to come and I didn’t want to finish down your throat.”
“Oh?” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.
“Trust me, I want to. I’ll give you the chance soon, but tonight is about you.”
He crawls back up my body, positioning himself at my entrance as he slowly presses forward. He eases himself in and out of me, an inch at a time until finally, his length is fully inside me. His tongue is in my mouth, his hands holding mine as he looks down at me. A lock of his hair hangs down over his forehead, his eyes burning into mine as his body says things to me that his lips can’t.
It feels different. It is different. This isn’t sex or fucking or hooking up. We’re making love and we both know it. The air is thick, heavy with desire and unspoken emotion. Our bodies move together like they were made for each other.
I’ve never felt like this with anyone. I’ve never had my body respond to someone so effortlessly with zero inhibitions. It feels like in this moment he could tell me he loves me, wants a life with me, and I wouldn’t think twice; I’d say I want the same.
But do I? Do I want a life with a man that truthfully, I barely know? A man who’s old enough be my father… A man that if I did pursue something with, could potentially be the end of my relationship with my own father.
I push the thoughts from my head again, living in the moment between us as we both reach our release together. It feels like the orgasm takes over my body, reaching every possible nerve ending, sending my emotions and sensations into overdrive.
“You’re going to be the death of me and I’m not sure I’d even fight it.”
Beckham kisses my sweaty forehead as he rolls me to his chest, settling onto his back. I lie half dazed across his body, his warm skin pressed against my cheek as I drag my nails over his belly.
We lay in silence for several moments. Beckham mirrors my movements with his hand on my back, the tips of his fingers tracing inanimate objects, causing little shivers to run down my spine.
“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence.
“So?” I say, smiling up at him as I lift my head a little.
“Have you thought any more about your trust?”
I sigh and absentmindedly make little circles on his chest. “Not too much honestly. It all feels a little overwhelming.”
He props himself up, one arm crooked behind his head as he looks at me.
“Talk to me about it.”
I shrug. “I want to do what you and I talked about. I want to use a big part of it to start a nonprofit and to fund startups. I also want to donate a big chunk. I’ve at least made a list of about a dozen or so groups I want to donate to first.”
“That’s a huge start, sweetie. Why are you feeling overwhelmed?”
