Page 70 of Alonzo

But I have to wait. Just a few more seconds until she’s done. So to take my mind off how much she turns me on, I bite her shoulder.

She gushes. All over my fingers.

But I don’t give her any time to think. My hand is already reaching for the soap. My dick is already sliding out of her ass.

I grab her hair, flip her around, push her to her knees, and put the soap in her hands.

“You’ve got two seconds to wash me, sunshine. And then I’m gonna stick my cock down your throat and make you choke on my come.”

She smiles at me, rubs the soap along my shaft twice, throws it down, and then crawls under the stream of water falling from the ceiling. Leading me by the dick.

“Oh, you little fucking slut.”

She giggles, rinses off my cock, and then dives down on it. Covering my whole shaft with her mouth. Her tongue flattening against my shaft as the tip of my head hits the back of her throat.

And yeah.

I’m done.

She wins.

I come.

She swallows. Over, and over again.

And I never want to pull my dick out of her mouth. My dick wants to live in there. Forever. I want her to suck me until I die of pleasure.

But eventually the pulsing sensation eases. My cock begins to soften slightly and she withdraws. I bend down and fall on my knees, ignoring the pain when I hit the hard floor of the shower. I lean forward, take her face in both my hands, and I kiss her.

I kiss her like she’s my dying wish.

I wake up to the sound of people laughing next door. And for a moment I’m confused. Because the rental cottages are all empty this month under the guise of maintenance.

But then I hear a soft sigh and realize my left hand is holding a breast and it all comes back to me.

Tara.

I open my eyes and see the curve of her shoulder up against my chest.

It was real. She’s here.

We fucked. Twice. And I got a real blowjob.

Not that I’m complaining about Tara’s fantasy blowjobs. I’m not. But Jesus Christ. The real thing kinda blew my mind if I’m being honest.

I lean in and kiss her neck. She doesn’t moan, or move, or even attempt to wake up.

And I’m thinking I could sleep for another lifetime if she’s next to me.

But then I hear Jesse Boston’s voice from outside. Something about yachts. And Rosalie.

Fuck.

I forgot all about Rosalie.

I need to talk to her before she starts mouthing off to Tara. I’m pretty sure Rosalie has no real idea of what we’ve been smuggling all these years, but I can’t take chances. Not after Tara’s arrival.

So I get out of bed, slip on a clean pair of jeans, and then quietly exit the bedroom.