Page 19 of Tricky Puck

“Jesus… Delaney,” he croaks out, laying a hand on my shoulder. I feel the tremor and understand the effort he’s making to maintain control.

Taking more of him in, I hold his shaft with two hands and slide my tongue and mouth down as low as I can until my eyes water, and I almost gag. Then I release him, and I realize how much I want to take all of him, how sexy he makes me feel, how powerful as I lick his tip, taking in more of him, spreading the beads of pre-cum down the silky hot surface, and I wonder how it could possibly feel even bigger in my hands and in my mouth.

Driving faster up and down, I lose myself in the rhythm I need to finish him, to make him give me all he has.

He tangles his hand in my hair and holds on. “Delaney.” The tight strain in his voice, almost a whisper, nearly reverent, drives me harder, and my blood hums as I feel like I’m reaching for the gold, so close to winning the most treasured prize. When I feel his muscles tighten and his grip on my hair shake, I become aware of my own excitement, the pulsing and need in my pussy.

“Delaney… I’m going to come.” The stark tautness of his words, the tremor in his voice make me suck as hard as I’ve ever sucked, and I take him down my throat all the way until I gag and choke, and he surges a stream of cum into my mouth while I hold on.

“Oh my God. Delaney, your mouth feels so fucking good.” He pulls on my hair to lift me off him as his cum spills from my mouth. He’s still shooting in waves from his cock, and I watch in fascination as I release him. Holding onto him with my hands, I squeeze every last drop from him as he holds onto me, leaning on me, helpless…and fuck—under my control, completely undone and vulnerable.

As his cock empties and I let go, my arms go around him, and he squeezes me tightly, holding on, kissing my hair, my eyes, my face, and whispering how sexy I am, how good I am.

My heart beats hard and fast, and my moment of would-be triumph isn’t what I expected. I don’t feel the power or elation of winning a game or besting an opponent. I feel pleasure and joy, a sense of accomplishment maybe, but most of all, I feel warm and full and satisfied and connected more than ever.

The circle of our intimacy, our naked embrace, both of us covered with his cum, the scent of sex in the air, the dim light, and soft raspy whispers. His breath in my ear and the hard beating of our hearts against each other has some kind of effect, sends some kind of new and different pleasure through me that I don’t quite understand.

And that makes me afraid. But only for a blink.

Then he takes control.

Seven

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Reaching around her soft warmth, I pull the covers down on the bed and shift us to the sheets. She faces me as I circle my finger around her nipple and then run it down the seam of cleavage between her ample breasts. They’re heavy and round and perfect. And, most importantly, they’re natural with the kind of soft give only real breasts have.

“You enjoying yourself?” she asks.

“Immensely. You?”

“Keep going, big boy. You’re on the right track to giving me orgasm number… I don’t even know.” She laughs. “That’s crazy.”

“That’s skill,” I say, lowering my mouth to her nipple before she can call me out.

She responds with a moan instead, and my appreciation translates to my cock coming back to life in record time. Now, that’s crazy, even for me.

“Okay,” she whispers, holding my head, threading her fingers through my hair, and making me shudder in the process. “You have a point.”

“What’s that?” I say between nips of her nipple, and then I flick it with my tongue, making her gasp. “I wonder if I can make you come just by playing with your nipples.”

“Oh my God. I don’t know. Even as skilled as you are⁠—”

I lift my head and bring my face to hers, keeping myself a breath apart from her.

“Is that a challenge, I hear?”

She laughs, and her blue eyes spark. Her dark hair falls all around her face with one lock straying to her cheek, stuck there. I stroke her cheek and smooth the hair away, unsticking it while she smiles at me, thoroughly amused.

“Is that all you think about? Challenges and competitions and games and winning? Is that what athletes are all about?”

“There you go, evading the question again.” Our eyes are locked, and her expression softens as my thumb finds her other nipple and plays with it until it pebbles.

“What was the question?” Her voice is breathier than before.

I concentrate, though it’s getting harder to do in the orbit of her … whatever she has that holds me like gravity.

“The question is, are you challenging me to make you come by only playing with your breasts?”