You wanted a show

I let the tip of him rest against my lips for a heartbeat, feeling the heat of him, the faint salt on my skin. Then I press forward just slightly, my mouth parting to take only the head, my tongue swiping across the slit in one slow, deliberate stroke. I don't take him deeper. I pull back, leaving him glistening and achingly hard, my chin tilted up to meet his eyes.

I keep my hand wrapped around the base, my thumb tracing that same lazy circle on the underside. His thighs are trembling against my shoulders, his breath coming in short, rough pulls. The dark-haired one has moved to the edge of the sectional, elbows on his knees, watching like he's memorizing every detail. The bachelor's beer is long forgotten.

"Easy there," I murmur, my voice a low, breathy rasp. "I told you I've been thinking about this all night. That means I'm not gonna rush it."

I lean forward again, this time pressing a slow kiss to the side of his shaft, just below the head. Then another, lower, following the line of him down toward the base. My free hand slides along his inner thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my touch.

"You boys wanted a show," I say, my lips brushing against his skin with each word. "This is the encore. And I plan on making it last."

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