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“Crow, I’m always hard when you’re around. The fact you’ve never noticed should answer that question.”
He swept behind me, gripping my hip and pulling it against him firmly enough for me to feel his erection, but quickly enough no one would’ve noticed.
“Enjoy your honey.”
Gus
“I was serious lastnight, you know,” Decca said, shutting the bedroom door behind her.
“About the Christmas tree?” I lowered my book. She wore black silk. A tiny slip that barely made it to the tops of her thighs. If she turned around, her perfect ass would peek out the bottom. I was already imagining the feel of those cheeks, perfectly cupped in my hands.
“No. Well, that, too, but about the other thing. The dick thing. I want to suck your dick.”
I couldn’t help it. She was so sincere, so sweet, I burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re right. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at...” I shook my head. “My amazingly good fortune.”
She climbed onto the foot of the bed and slowly crawled up to where I was leaned against the pillows. “I think I can take it all.”
Her freshly washed face made her look even more innocent. I loved her big pouty lips painted in her favorite shade of dried bloodred, her kohl-rimmed eyes staring up at me with a sultry gaze. But I loved her scrubbed bare face equally.
There were two Deccas.
The mask she wore in public, the one marked by her toughness, her strength, her competence that could cut right through red tape in her work. And the guileless persona she only showed to a lucky few.
Who was I to mar that unblemished openness by refusing her offer?
“You think you can take it, Crow? Are you dying of thirst like the fable?”
Her lips parted at the words. She loved when I called her Crow. That’s exactly what she was, my little corvid, who found an ingenious way to quench her thirst.
“What fable?”
“Once, there was a crow who came across a pitcher of water.” I reached up to toy absentmindedly with her hair, letting her thick black strands cascade through my fingers. “She wanted to drink, but because the water was too low, and the neck of the vessel was too narrow, she couldn’t reach it. Also, she was too short,” I grinned. “So, one by one, she dropped stones into the pitcher, raising the water level higher and higher until she could reach to drink her fill.”
Decca’s eyes grew wider. She nodded slowly. “Mmhmm. Let me drink my fill.”
She rose onto her knees and straddled my lap, settling cozily into my waiting arms, fitting herself against my body like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
“I like it when you use your naughty words.” I grabbed her by the back of her neck, leaning forward to breathe in the lingering scent of her spicy oil and clean skin. I kissed from her neck up,around her jaw, finally reaching her lush lips. Her mouth parted, and I tasted the cinnamon and cardamom from her winter tea. Our mouths danced in a slow rhythm, tongues tasting and tangling as she sank lower on my lap, rubbing against my rock hard cock.
A tortured moan caught in her throat. She reached down, fingers skating across the waistband of my sweatpants. She had to peel herself away from my mouth to look down.
She ran her hand up and down the bulge. The sight of her hand on my cock, her face so eager to please, was almost too much to take. I blew out a breath and ran my hand down my beard. It already felt so good, her sitting astride my thighs, lightly pinned under the weight of her. I could move her easily, sweep her off me and get on top, but I knew she enjoyed this false idea that she was in control.
“You can’t suck it from there, now can you?”
Her lips parted. I felt her hot breath on my lips, like a kiss from afar.
She pulled my waistband down just enough to expose my swollen, reddened head, already leaking. Decca bit her lip. “These need to come off.”
I helped her by lifting up my ass to work my sweatpants down. My cock sprang free, straight up. I resisted the urge to stroke myself. This was about her exploring my body. I’d let her do it the same way she had let me explore hers.
But, goddamn it, she’d better start exploring soon, or I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.
Her hand wrapped around the base. She ringed it tightly in her barely closed fist. God, that sight could make me weep. But then, with her other hand, she stroked my balls, tentatively at first, like she’d never played with a man’s balls before and didn’t know how much pressure to give.
