I tease her a little, getting lost in the kiss. I let her think that maybe she’s in control for just a moment until I rip my mouth from hers. Her lips are red and swollen, just begging for my cock to fuck them.
And that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
I push on her shoulders, giving her no option but to drop to her knees. She yelps, her hands reaching out to brace herself by grabbing onto my thighs.
“You had so much fun teasing me just now.” I wrap her hair around my hand, giving me the leverage I need to control her head however I desire. She licks her lips, staring at my cock hungrily before she looks me in the eye. “You clearly want it,” I say, wrapping my fingers along my length and stroking up and down. “Be a good little whore and suck my cock,” I demand.
She adjusts her position on her knees, giving me no indication if she’s going to listen or not. Instead, she rolls her eyes. Actually rolls her eyes at me. Defiant little slut. She still might do as she’s told, however, because her fingers wrap around me. Her grip is firm, not timid in the slightest. She pumps up and down achingly slow, so slow that my balls tighten in protest. I need more of her. More of this. More of everything when it comes to her.
“Camden?” My name is said like a question, her breath hot on my cock as she speaks.
“Yes, baby?” I croak.
“You might want to start counting. You’ll be coming down my throat in two minutes.” Her tongue travels all the way up and down my length, and fuck, I think she might be right. It’s all too much.
And then she says the words that have me fucking savage for her. “And I’ve never swallowed before.”
28
PIPPA
I’ve never felt sexy giving a blow job. It must be because I wasn’t blowing the right person because right now, with my mouth hovering over the head of Camden’s cock, I’ve never felt hotter.
My tongue glides around his swollen head. Air hisses through his teeth, his thighs flexing underneath my grip. I let my fingers drift upward, needing to feel his abs. I haven’t seen them, but everything about his body is perfect. There’s no doubt in my mind that his abdomen is the same.
I let my tongue memorize the feeling of his thick, heavy cock. I lick along the vein that runs from the base to the tip, reveling in the groans that fall from his mouth with every flick. Camden doesn’t seem to like to show emotions—I can relate—but it’s different in private, with my lips parting to take him down my throat. To the outside world, he’s closed off. Right now, his body tells me everything I want to know and more.
I’m enjoying teasing him, punishing him for his hot and cold tendencies. He left me almost naked, pressed up against a window, when he ran away. I’d felt vulnerable and exposed, ruining the euphoria running through my body from the orgasm he pulled from me.
Maybe I want to give him a little payback.
I pull my mouth away, loving the angry set of his jaw when I let go of his cock. It stands at attention, beckoning for me to return to what I was doing. I don’t. Instead, both my hands travel underneath the starched fabric of his shirt.
“Off,” I demand, trying to pull at the buttons. My fingers don’t work quickly enough, so I opt to tug on them instead.
Camden’s hand covers mine, his palm sliding over my fingers. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
I bite my lip, wondering if I should talk back or not. “I want to see you.”
He squeezes my hand, the gesture seeming so gentle compared to everything else. I sit back on my heels, watching eagerly when his fingers begin to undo the buttons on his chest. He manages to get two of them undone before he angrily sighs. “Fuck it,” he growls, grabbing both sides of the shirt and ripping it open.
Buttons ping against the floor as they fall in various directions. I laugh, the sound getting caught in my throat when he looks down at me with fire in his eyes. I’m swept up in the way he looks at me, but from the corner of my eye, I notice him pulling his arms from each side of the shirt.
I don’t know where to look. I love the heat in his eyes, the way he watches me like a man watching his last meal. But I want to see his body. I want to commit every single muscle to memory to remember this by. Even though I haven’t looked yet, I know the slopes and planes of his muscles are something artists like him could only dream of recreating.
“Look at me.” His fingers wrap around my chin. They’re firm, nudging my head upward to force me to look at him.
My chest hitches. Everything about him is better than I could’ve imagined. He’s cut perfectly. His muscles are so proportionate, as if his perfectionist personality ensures that every muscle is worked evenly.