Behind the Curtain - Page 113

“I was thinking about giving you this birthday gift yesterday,” she said, her lips moving against his cock. “But you kept taking over in bed. You have a habit of doing that, you know.”

“I am a controlling jerk,” he admitted, watching her, spellbound, as she removed his erection from his briefs. She’d never sucked him off before. He’d thought about it, of course. A lot. He liked fellatio as much as most men, and Laila was the most desirable woman he’d ever known. But despite the fact that she was an innately sensual, incredibly responsive lover, there was something that remained untouchable about her. He held back with her a little. He wasn’t as demanding as he might be with another experienced woman. Maybe it was because her beauty, her fire—her very spirit—were so refined. So pure. His male hunger sometimes seemed coarse and blunt in contrast to her.

She held his now-naked, pulsing cock in her hand, her lips just inches from the head, and looked up at him soberly.

“If you’re a controlling jerk, why haven’t you asked me to give you pleasure this way?” She stroked the shaft of his cock with her soft hand. He shivered with sharp excitement. “Don’t you like it?”

He ground his teeth together as she continued to caress his erection. “I like it,” he said in bald understatement.

“Then why haven’t you asked me to?” she whispered.

“I

don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, her entire arm moving as she steadily stroked him from tip to balls.

“I’m not stopping you now,” he pointed out, mesmerized by the vision of her full, pink lips hovering just inches from his swollen cockhead.

“Tell me how you like it,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his sensitive flesh. “Teach me, like you taught me how to touch you at the secret lake.”

He felt his cock surge in her hand. It was a potent memory. The prospect of repeating it with a different mode of making love inflamed him. He shut his eyes briefly and groaned.

“Asher?”

He heard the uncertainty in her tone. He found himself gripping her thick, soft ponytail. “Just . . . do what you want, Laila.”

She stopped stroking, gripping him at midstaff. “No. Tell me. Please?” He saw the desperation in her eyes. “I’ve never really done it before,” she whispered, looking a little embarrassed. “Or if I have, not well,” she added under her breath resignedly.

He started to sweat. He gently pulled her hand off his cock and replaced it with his own.

“Open your mouth,” he said gruffly. He felt blood rush into his cock at merely saying the words. Watching her follow his instructions was even worse. Grappling for restraint, he told her matter-of-factly how to use her lips to stroke him firmly and protect him at once from her teeth.

“Like this?” she asked.

She dipped him into her warm mouth. Excitement tingled at the base of his spine at the feeling of her sliding along her warm tongue. His balls pinched in pleasure. He groaned.

“That’s good. Tighten your mouth some,” he muttered, watching her like a hawk as she began to bob her head over the first several inches of his appreciative cock. She followed his instructions so precisely, he hissed in mounting pleasure. She slid her warm mouth off him, a concerned look on her face. He caught the back of her head and his cock at once, firmly reinserting himself into her mouth.

“You were doing great. That felt fantastic,” he assured her. “God, yeah,” he muttered as she resumed even more enthusiastically. “That’s so good, Laila. Now suck.” Again, he hissed at how well she followed his instructions. His eyes rolled back in his head at the sharp blast of pleasure. She was amazing.

“Just use your tongue for a minute,” he urged, needing a break from the emotion boiling inside him and the forceful stroke of her mouth.

He watched her with a tight focus as she charted his cock with a red, wet tongue. This was no break. This was yet another wicked source of torture. The pleasure she gave him was every bit as pure and distilled as she was . . . as what he felt for her.

Without a word, he reinserted his cock between her lips.

“You can be aggressive, beautiful,” he told her a moment later, watching her every move. Her eyes killed him as she looked up at him and her head bobbed back and forth. She began to take him more strenuously, observing his reaction as closely as he watched her. His face tightened in pleasure.

“Now use your hand as well as your mouth,” he instructed. He wrapped his hand around hers and guided her, until she took over, her hand squeezing him in tandem with her hot, eager mouth. Air rushed past his lips and burned his throat. For a stretched moment, he existed on a blissful, sharp edge.

He felt so raw, so flayed by pleasure. All the feelings and thoughts he’d been having about her as he recognized the immensity of her talent combined with the razor-sharp pleasure she gave him so unselfishly. He gripped her ponytail and moved her head. She kept pace eagerly, the vision of her bringing him near to climax. He wanted to come in her sweet, hot mouth.

He wanted to explode inside her, anywhere . . . anyhow . . . break through all the barriers, leave himself so deep inside her that there could be no doubt.

They were one.

The logical part of his brain never told him to move. It was that deep, primal aspect that had him lifting her against him and carrying her over to the couch. While he did it, he feasted on her mouth again. Even when he bent to set her down on the cushion, he couldn’t stop delving his tongue into her sweetness, feeding on her heat and her reciprocated need.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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