Right. Easier said than done when his dick was stiffer than a flagpole in January.
And it only got worse when he felt Josephine’s tongue trailing up and down his spine, her hands gripping both sides of his ass and massaging. Rhythmically.
A hot ripple passed through Wells, his hand dying to wrap around his dick again.
No, don’t move. Don’t do anything that might make her stop.
“That’s yours if you want it, Josephine,” he panted, his hands turning to fists on the slick tile wall. What was he doing? Offering her ownership of his ass? He didn’t feel compelled to take back the proposition, though. If they weren’t in a dark bathroom with stars glowing overhead, steam muffling their voices, his proposition might have come across . . . bizarre? Definitely bizarre. In the thick of the moment, though, giving Josephine her favorite thing about him came naturally. Giving her anything she wanted was the only way to live. “Matter of fact, it’s been yours,” Wells said, without thinking.
Words were just leaving his mouth without orders from his brain. Had his fucking filter been carried down the shower drain along with the water?
And then his thoughts scattered like beads on a wooden floor, because Josephine whispered, “I accept” into his neck—and she rubbed a finger against his asshole.
“What the . . . ,” he said on a rushing exhale, his world tilting sideways. “Okay. Fuck.”
Briefly, her hand appeared to his left, picking up a square yellow bar of soap—the handmade shit, like the kind someone bought at a farmers’ market. Did she go to the farmers’ market? Why was he thinking about this? Probably because he had no right enjoying what Josephine was doing back there. She’d soaped her hand up really well, based on the slippery sudsiness of her palm and she was . . . cleaning him. Rubbing three whole fingers up and down, up and down . . . there. Like, right there.
Motherfucker, that felt good.
Felt great, knowing Josephine was the one doing it. Enjoying the hell out of it, too, if her fast breaths against his shoulders were any indication.
The longer she kept at it, the more his hand itched to beat his cock and finally he couldn’t hold off anymore, so he wrapped a fist around his inches, pumping hard. “Ohhh. Shit. What are you doing to me, baby?”
“Whatever I want.” She sank her teeth into his shoulder, dug them in, then kissed the spot in apology. “Right?”
“That’s right,” he grated, sparks twinkling in the far corners of his vision. “But I can only take so much before I need to hit that pussy, Josephine. Please.”
She did it. She actually did it. She pressed a finger inside him.
Deep.
“What’s the rush?”
His fists shook on the wall, his balls weighed down so heavy, the sexual pain was making its way into his stomach. “I don’t . . . oh my God. Should you stop?”
“You tell me.”
A soft thump on the shower floor had Wells glancing back over his shoulder—and down—to find Josephine on her knees, her lips tracing the valley of his ass, her eyes closed like she’d never tasted anything finer, and his pulse began hammering out of control, a new kind of serpentine lust uncoiling and slithering in the lowest region of his belly. What was happening here? Why was this the most turned on he’d ever been in his fucking life?
“What are you going to—”
Her tongue raked up the part of his backside—firmly—and traveled over the pucker of his asshole, sliding over it roughly once, twice, three times, while his knees verged on buckling and then, holy shit, she reached through his thighs and started to jack him off, her tongue still working and prodding and licking his rear entrance like her goal was to drive him fully insane. And she was. God help him, his right foot slid wider with a wet squeak of tile, so she could have more, and she moaned gratefully in response and nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the animalistic surge of lust that tightened his balls and made him growl at the shower wall, without even really seeing it, because he’d gone fucking blind.
“You are in for such a fucking pounding, Josephine, I swear to God,” he said hoarsely. “Enjoy being on your knees, baby, because you’re going to spend the rest of the night on your back dealing with my dick. You’ve got one more minute.”
He’d live to regret that. Or maybe the opposite. He didn’t know.
She made the most out of that minute.
That grip of hers cinched up tighter around his painful erection, luxuriating in every single thorough stroke, while she did things with her tongue that he’d never even fantasized about. Had no idea he would even enjoy. She wet him down so thoroughly that when she entered him with her thumb, there was no discomfort, only this mind-blowing pressure in his balls that increased and increased the deeper she pushed, until he was shouting epithets at the wall. He probably made it only thirty seconds of that final minute before he was slapping off the shower spray, turning around, and scooping Josephine off the floor by her armpits. No sooner had he settled her on her feet outside the shower than he was tossing her up into his arms and kicking open the bathroom door, exiting into the hallway.