8 Chapter 8

He moans above me. “Jesus, Wray. That’s so fucking hot.”

With a subtle thrust of my hips, I remind him to keep his hand moving on my dick. Then I go down on him again—I’m through playing. Closing my lips over his cockhead, I begin to rub his slit with my tongue as I suck in my cheeks. He seems to swell in my mouth, and I get the first teasing taste of the bittersweet saltiness of his seed. I go down on him once, twice, then concentrate on his tip again, suckling it, trying to draw him towards release.

From the faint mewling sound he makes, I know I’m succeeding.

Keeping the tip of his dick behind my front teeth, I stretch my tongue down his length as far as it will go. I’m no Gene Simmons, but I’ve never developed much of a gag reflex, so I can reach pretty far. His dick buts against my palette as I dive farther, my tongue angling to taste his balls. Mojo fucks up into me, forcing his cock deep into my throat, and I swallow to constrict the muscles around his erection.