I want him to wake moaning in pleasure, so I tentatively start to shuffle down his body and cradle myself between his thighs. They open for me, without the need to push them apart, and I’m up close to his morning erection, licking my lips and mentally preparing myself to send him wild. Reaching forward, I flick my eyes up to his face as I take a gentle hold of the base, watching for any signs of life but finding nothing, just parted lips and still eyelids. I return my attention to the hard length of muscle in my grasp and follow my instinct, my tongue swirling the tip slowly, collecting up the bead of cum that’s already building. The heat of his flesh, the smoothness of his taut skin, the hardness beneath, it’s all so very addictive and I soon find myself rising to my knees and sliding my lips down the length of him, moaning in indulgence as I work my way back up. My attention is centred solely on the delivery of meticulous licks and kisses. I spend an age soaking up the wonderful feeling of him in my mouth. I’m not sure at what point he starts groaning, but his hands suddenly in my hair alert me to it, and I smile around the slow drives of my mouth as it sheaths him, over and over. His hips start to slowly lift, meeting each of my advances, and his hands guide my head perfectly.
His sleepy mumbles are indecipherable, his voice broken and weak. My hand begins to stroke up and down, mirroring my mouth, doubling his pleasure. His legs shift, his head shaking slowly from side to side. Every muscle touching me has gone rigid, and the swell of him in my mouth tells me he’s close, so I increase my pace, my head bobbing, the feel of him hitting the back of my throat pushing on my own pleasure.
‘Stop,’ he breathes, continuing to push my head onto him. ‘Please, stop.’
He’s going to come at any moment and this knowledge only encourages me.
‘No!’ His knee flies up, cracking me in the jaw, making me cry out at the flash of pain it causes. His arousal falls from my mouth as I shoot up, grabbing my face, applying pressure to ease the instant throb. ‘Get off me!’ He’s upright, scrambling back until his back hits the sofa, one knee coming up, his other leg stretched out in front of him. His blue eyes are wide and full of fear, his body sweaty and his chest surging under his clear distress.
My body moves away on instinct, my shock and wariness not allowing me to move in to comfort him. I can’t even speak. I’m just watching as his eyes dart around, his palm over his chest in an attempt to ease the palpitations. The pain searing through my jaw is incredible, but my dry eyes won’t produce any tears. I’m on emotional shutdown. He looks like a frightened animal, cornered and helpless, and when his eyes fall down to his groin, mine do, too.
He’s still rock-hard. His cock begins to twitch and he groans, his head dropping back onto his shoulders.
Then he comes.
And he whimpers dejectedly.
White liquid spurts up his stomach, across his thighs, seeming to pour from the tip forever. ‘No,’ he murmurs to himself, his hands raking through his hair, his eyes clenching shut. ‘No!’ he bellows, slamming his hands down to the floor, making me recoil in shock.
I don’t know what to do. I’m still sitting away from him, my hand still clenching my jaw, and now my mind is sprinting. Flashbacks are stamping all over my mind. He’s let me take him in my mouth once. It was brief and he didn’t come. He moaned his pleasure, assisted me, guided me, but quickly withdrew. The other times I’ve ventured into that area with my mouth, I’ve been intercepted. He let me work him with my hand in his office once, and I remember him clarifying that it should only be with my hand. And I also remember him telling me that he doesn’t touch himself privately.
Why?
He reaches and grabs a tissue from the box on the nearby table, then sets about frantically wiping himself up.
‘Miller?’ I say quietly, breaking into the sounds of his rushed breath and mad actions. I can’t close the distance, not until he registers I’m here. ‘Miller, look at me.’
His arms drop, but his eyes dart everywhere on my body, except to my face.
‘Miller, please look at me.’ I inch forward a little, cautious, desperate to comfort him when he so obviously needs it. ‘Please.’ I wait, impatient, yet knowing I have to approach this carefully. ‘I beg you.’
Tortured blues blink slowly and eventually reopen, seeping into the deepest part of my heart. His head begins to shake. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he almost chokes, his palm wrapping around his throat, like he’s struggling to breathe. ‘I’ve hurt you.’
‘I’m fine,’ I counter, even though my jaw feels like it needs cracking back into place. I release my hold of it and edge my way closer to him, slowly crawling onto his lap. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeat, sinking my face into his damp neck, feeling relieved when I feel him embrace the comfort I’m offering. ‘You OK?’
He lets out a short spurt of breath, almost laughing. ‘I’m not sure what happened.’
My brow wrinkles, realising in an instant that he’s going to evade any questions I pose. ‘You can tell me,’ I press.
The swift detachment of my chest from his and his eyes boring into mine make me feel small and useless. His impassive face isn’t helping either. ‘Tell you what?’
My shoulders jump up on a little shrug. ‘Why such a violent reaction?’ I’m uncomfortable under the intensity of him watching me. I’m not sure why when I’ve been the sole focus of this penetrating gaze since I’ve met him.
‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes soften and are quickly laced with concern as he directs them to my jaw. ‘You startled me, Olivia. Nothing more.’ A smooth palm runs the length of my cheek, then circles gently.