AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Must be nice.
She flushed as she remembered how well she’d slept after getting to bed the night before. The orgasm had done that. Montrell had said he masturbated often. Maybe that was why he slept so soundly now. Maybe he’d already fucked his own hand.
Her lip curled at the thought. It shouldn’t have made her feel annoyed. It didn’t, she told herself, even as she stalked to the bed, feet slapping against the cold floorboards.
He continued to snore as if he hadn’t been waiting for her at all.
The thought prompted her to flip the covers off of him like she had the night before. He’d been naked then, and he was naked again. Apparently that was how he slept.
His cock had already been tenting the sheet when she’d arrived the night before. That had been convenient; she’d had only one purpose. A purpose he hadn’t appreciated.
Studying the size of him—even limp against his leg, he looked big—made her question that purpose. She’d never told her husband that she’d seen one bigger. He’d never doubted she’d been a virgin on their wedding night. No, Montrell was her secret. She’d been filled with him once before, and it hadn’t hurt at all.
She’d been lucky back then. Her body had known how to work. A cock hadn’t seemed like a thrusting sword intent on ripping her apart.
Her hand reached out. Montrell wasn’t erect, but she’d expected him to feel hard, not silky and soft and strangely pleasant to touch. It was especially easy to trace the veins under his skin.
Montrell continued to snore. His whole body wasn’t asleep, though. As her curiosity rose and her hand continued to explore, his cock grew very much awake. It lifted from his thigh, jutting out instead. His cock was silky to the touch, even as he became hard under her lingering fingers.
She wondered what expression he would make if he woke up inside her mouth. The thought of it made her lick her lips and study his face. There was a little crease on his forehead as if he knew something was going on, but wasn’t quite sure what.
Maybe he’d look as surprised as he had when she’d asked him if he was okay. He hadn’t expected her to care.
That realization made her hand move away. Montrell had no expectations of her at all. In fact, if he knew she was thinking about putting her mouth on him, he’d stop her. Not because it grossed him out or he thought it was dirty, but because Montrell only wanted to please her. He’d never hurt her. He preferred the opposite—to give.
The idea of giving to him instead took away her fears. Her heartbeat sped up in her chest. She wanted to give to him.
Montrell had seemed happy when he’d made her orgasm the night before. She wanted that feeling for herself.
Beatrice crawled on the bed, sitting on his legs. The pressure of her weight interrupted his snoring. Worried he’d stop her, she bent over his erection, taking it into her mouth.
Montrell had thought of the night before while he was whacking off in the shower, but he’d felt guilty about it, so he’d switched to his more tried-and-true memories of her. The ones that he’d polished as often as his cock. As he’d gotten closer, the memory of her slickness the night before, dripping with lube, had drifted in, unbidden. The subtle shimmy of her hips as she sought his touch had been sexy as hell. He imagined the way the tip of his cock had felt inside her, but he pictured her pulsing around it as she orgasmed, and he’d flooded the goddamn wall.
He’d meant to take the edge off in case she came that night because he’d been truthful with her that morning. If she came to him, it was going to be all about getting her to orgasm as many times as he could get away with before she ran again.
As he’d slipped into bed, naked but not hard, he’d thought of her. This time, it was nothing about sex. No, he’d remembered her asking if he was okay, and his damn chest constricted, just as it had before.
So it wasn’t surprising that his subconscious dreamed about her, but the damn bastard started halfway through, with her mouth already surrounding his cock. He groaned as he watched her cheeks pull in while she sucked hard.
“Fucking hell,” he choked out. She barely had any of him inside her mouth, and he already wanted to come. “This dream is so damn wrong.”
There was no way Beatrice would really want to do that to him. She didn’t want sex at all.
His mind must have agreed because dream Beatrice lifted her head. “You dream about me?” she asked. The slight smile he’d been craving tilted up her lips.
“Every damn night,” he admitted. Why not? His mind already knew. “Ever since we were together, I’ve masturbated to nothing else.”
Her lips were smiling as she licked up the length of him. Fuck, that was hot.
“What would I be doing to you?” she asked, sounding breathless. It was a sweet fantasy. Beatrice was never breathless.
She’d become breathless the night before, though, right before she orgasmed from his touch. He felt almost desperate just thinking about that.
Her head lowered, licking at his slit. It felt so good. So real.
“Tell me what to do,” she told him, sounding like his darkest fantasy.
“Nothing,” he admitted, and her smile dropped. “I should be the one touching you.” He frowned at the truth of that, but then she took him into her mouth again and thinking became hard.
