That’s the way I’d go—hell yeah.

Her pussy is perfect. She smells like fucking roses and tastes like sunshine. In the last hour and a half, she’s come three times. I think I’ve sprained my tongue.

Totally worth it.

Sarah sighs contentedly, snuggling up against my side, her pretty eyes closed.

I stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how painfully hard I am or the throbbing weight of my heavy balls. It’s possible my cock could actually burst—which hurts to even think about—that’s how hard I am.

Sarah’s palm slides along my chest.

“Henry?” she says, soft and sweet.

“Mmm?”

“I want to do that to you.”

My eyes spring open. And I actually get harder. But I have to be sure she’s saying what I think she’s saying—I’m in no state to be messed with.

“Do what?”

She leans up on her arm, looking down at me with cheeks flushed. And there’s a new directness in her eyes, an audacity that I don’t think was there yesterday. It makes her even sexier.

“I want to put my mouth on you.” She glances down to where my briefs are tented so high it should be funny. I purposely kept them on so I wouldn’t get carried away. Sarah naked is one thing—both of us naked and rubbing on each other is entirely too dangerous.

I should ask her if she’s sure. I should tell her she doesn’t have to.

But what I actually say is, “Fuck me, Christ, yes please.”

She giggles and I feel it in my aching cock. Then she dips her head and starts peppering kisses across my collarbone. Soft, whispery brushes of warm lips. She flicks her tongue over one sensitive nipple, pulling a moan from me.

“I feel drunk, Henry. Wild. And I want to make you feel every bit as good as you made me feel. I want so much to give you that.”

I lift up again, pulling her to me, kissing her wet and deep. “You do, Sarah. Christ, everything you do—feels incredible.”

She moves lower, and I start to pant. Her tongue licks at my abs and swirls around my navel and I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth. And when that wet, pink tongue dips below the waistband on my briefs, I almost lose it.

I need a distraction. So I ask stupid questions that I already know the answers to.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She giggles against my skin. “No.”

And I bask in hearing it out loud. In the knowledge of being her first.

Her only.

It feels so greedy, so fucking possessive—mine, mine, every inch of her is mine. If she could read my thoughts she’d probably call me sexist—maybe misogynistic—but I don’t care.

It’s awesome. And if thinking that makes me a pig, well . . . oink, oink.

“But I’ve read about it. Some romance scenes are very . . . detailed.”

When she tugs on the waistband, I lift my hips—she skims off my briefs in one swoop and my freed cock taps against my stomach.

“Detailed how?” I grind out, trying not to lose my fucking mind.

She gets comfy on her elbows, adjusts her glasses, and gazes at my dick like it’s something to be figured out. It enjoys the notice, thickening and twitching, attention whore that it is. Sarah grips me at the base and brings her mouth closer—close enough that I can feel her warm breath on me.

“Well, the books say this is the most sensitive part, especially this little ridge here.”

She swirls her tongue around the tip, then licks at the ridge in question. My skull digs into the pillow and it’s so good it’s almost painful.

“That’s true,” I moan.

Then she kisses up and down the shaft, talking as she goes.

“And, they always mention massaging the testicles, how that makes it better.” Her voice turns teasing. “Should I test that theory?”

Cheeky girl

All I can do is nod. And then I whimper when she cups my sack in her hand, causing hot, weighted pleasure to light every nerve in my body.

“What do they call it?” I wonder. I have no idea why. “Can’t see Jane Austen writing the word cock.”

It’s possible I just want to hear the word from Sarah’s lips.

“Depends on the book,” she says, licking me from base to tip, swirling around the full, aching head, before licking her way back down with her hot, wet tongue. And then she does it again.

“Not Austen, but some books call a cock, a cock.”

So bloody good

“Others call it a rod or a sword . . . and the woman is the sheath.”

“Sounds painful.”

Sarah giggles, and then slips the head of my dick into the wet cavern of her mouth and I groan.

She removes her mouth, stroking me slowly.

“And this,” she brushes her thumb across the tip, rubbing at the pre-cum, “is sometimes called the ‘pearl of desire,’ and they always say it tastes sweet or salty.” And then she fucking licks me. “Mmm . . . it is a bit salty.”

And I’m gone.

“Take me in your mouth, Sarah. All the way. Suck it hard. And fast. Now.”

And she does just that. Envelops me in her tight, wet mouth, sucking and laving—wrapping her little hand around what she can’t take, pumping hard.

“That’s good, so good, love.”

Gently, I cup the back of her head, holding her steady, and then I thrust up between her full, hot lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”