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My own cock throbs between my legs as I swallow every drop of him. And when Coop is done, his body limp beneath mine, I pull my cock into my hand and stroke it, still tasting him on my lips as I tip over the edge, coating his dick with my release.
Coop shudders at the feel and pries his eyes open. His entire body is heaving, as if he’s just done something Olympic, something Herculean. I don’t blame him.
His blow jobs are exceptional as well.
“Was it good?” I ask, my throat rough and raspy. It’s sore, like I’ve come down with something, but it’s not that. Not at all.
I’ll use the rough notes of my voice with pride.
“Good fuck, are you serious?” he asks, his own voice hoarse from screaming. “Your first time giving head and that’s how good it was?”
“Yeah.”
He sighs and lets out a pained laugh. “I won’t survive it if you do it again.”
“You won’t?”
He throws an arm over his eyes.
“Come here, baby,” he says, and I crawl up against him, not caring about the mess I made all over him, not caring that it smears against my skin as I do so. He pulls me into a kiss, gentle, loving, relaying all his feelings in this small, meaningful moment.
“It was perfect. It was glorious.”
“Mm,” I say with a smile, kissing him again.
“Did you like it?” he asks, and I nod, my forehead hitting his.
“I loved it. I want to try it again soon.”
“Anytime. Literally anytime. I will pull my pants down for you. I don’t care if we’re in the vegetable aisle at the grocery store. I’ll pull you behind some boxes and let you have at it.”
I chuckle against him, resting in the crook of his arms.
“I don’t ever want this to end,” I tell him softly, and his arms clasp me tightly.
“Then don’t let it end, Matthew. Stay with me forever.”
I think I just might.
Chapter Nineteen
Coop
Oh my god. Matthew is sucking my dick. All the time. It’s like it’s his mission to be the best dick-sucker on planet Earth. And fuck, he’s accomplishing it.
My husband should win a prize.
“Oh my fuck!” I cry out, watching Matthew on his knees, his lips spread wide across my dick, swallowing me down with each bob of his head. When I said it was going to be the death of me, I meant it. My heart is racing, my body thrumming, I feel like I’ve run a mile and I haven’t moved an inch.
“Matthew—Matty!” I cry out, not sure what to call him.
Jesus? God? St. Helen?
Who the fuck is Helen?
My fingers tighten in his hair, and he grunts as I tug. I tug hard too, I hold on for dear life because my knees are giving out. I can’t fucking see straight.
I’m having a stroke of orgasm. A stroke-gasm.
