I cupped my breasts and pushed against him, clasping his thick hard cock between the mounded globes of flesh. Lifted my chest and sank down, plunging his shaft between my breasts. “Like this?”
He groaned, watching his cock vanish between the globes of my tits, feeling the soft silky flesh around him. “You know the fantasies I’ve had about doing this?”
I smirked. “Consider me the source of all your fantasies come true, then.”
He shook his head, biting his lip as he shifted his hips. “You don’t want that.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Titus. You don’t know what I want.”
“So tell me.”
“What if I told you I wanted to know I’d made your fantasy come true?”
“You don’t get it. I’m not talking about some ongoing thing, like I sit around in the shower jerking off thinking about randomly titty-fucking someone.” He plunged upward again, to sprout up between the tops of my breasts, and I couldn’t help but bend over to fit my lips around the tip as it appeared. “Jesus, woman. You’re gonna kill me, here.”
“Good. That’s what I’m going for. Murder by orgasm. And you thought you were dirty.” I lowered around him, so he sprouted up again and I let the flat of my tongue slide against his tip, tasting his leaking essence. “So then what is the fantasy?”
“You.” He growled wordlessly as I kept him in my mouth and used my hands to plunge my tits around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Laurel. You’re the fantasy. You, doin’ this.” His hips were moving, then, flexing. “Coming all over these tits. Flipping you over and fucking from behind until you’re crying for it, and then coming all over your perfect ass. Fuck, Laurel. You want to know the dirty truth? I wanna fuck your mouth. I wanna bury my hands in all that blond hair and fuck your mouth until you take my cum down your fuckin’ throat.”
“Oooh, Titus,” I breathed, smirking up at him. “You are dirty.”
“Told you.”
This was familiar territory. I understood this. It was safe. Dirty, sexy, flirty, naughty, I could do.
“You’d better pick one, then.” I rose up and plunged down, taking him into my mouth on the upstroke. “Since you’re already here, might as well start here.”
“Laurel, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off as I sped my efforts. He had my headboard in a death grip, the wood frame crackling under the power of his hands. “Fuck, you feel good.”
“Yeah? You like this?” I whispered, my breath huffing on the tip of him, took him into my mouth and then back out again. “You like fucking my big fat titties?”
He grunted a laugh, an affirmative. “You have no idea, Laurel. None.”
He was grinding against me, now. Hard, fast. I just held myself around him, mouth open above the opening between my breasts so each thrust put him into my mouth. Faster, faster. Grunting, groaning.
“You gonna come all over me, Titus?” I whispered. “Paint my tits with your cum, Titus. Let me have it.”
He didn’t stand a chance. My trap had been set the moment he saw me in this outfit.
“Fuck, Laurel,” he snarled. “Fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah, baby,” I whispered, watching him lose control, watching his jaw clench, watching his beautiful razor-sharp abs tense, watching his hips pump and plunge his cock through the gap of my tits, watching the hard angles of his V-cut sharpen with each thrust. God, he was beautiful.
Granted, I got nothing whatsoever from this, on a physical level. But watching Titus Bright—the Titus Bright—helpless above me, face a rictus of crazed pleasure…that was fucking fun. Pleasurable in itself, knowing I had him, right where I wanted him, too blasted into the dazed wonder of ecstasy and knowing he was getting it from me, that was a reward it and of itself.
Bonus: the fact that he was too distracted to level me with his unexpected sweetness, his impossible to resist genuineness, his emotional vulnerability, his openness with his past…
Dammit, woman, stop. Stop thinking about him like that.
Focus on the dick.
He was close. I could tell at a glance. Throbbing, eyes closed for a moment then wrenching open to watch himself against me. His movements were sporadic, his rhythm faltering.
“Laurel…” he groaned.
I just moaned, for his benefit. Moved to complement his thrusting. And then as he went frantic with the rapidly rising edge of orgasm, I abandoned the pretense of using my tits, took him in my fists and wrapped my mouth around his thrusting head and sucked, took the thrusts and swallowed around them and then backed away and plunged my touch around him faster and faster until he jutted his hips forward hard, once more, flexed there, head thrown back, up on his knees, gasping, groaning. He dropped his chin to his chest as he reached release.
I took the first shot in my mouth—as much on my lips as in my mouth. He growled and thrust and came again, shooting another thick gout onto my chest—I clenched my arms around my breasts to pile them up for him, letting him take over jerking him, squeezing them together as he spurted yet again, now painting his thick white cum in a stripe and puddle on my squeezed-together nipples. When he began to sag, I let go my breasts and gathered his shaft in my hands and plunged down on his still-pulsing erection, mouth latching around his cock and sucking the last droplets from him until he sank backward and fell to the bed beside me in a dazed, heaving heap.
Covered from lips to tits in his sticky, cooling seed, I watched him gasp. “You alive over there, Mr. Bright?”
“Nope. Dead.” He was gasping raggedly, as if he’d just sprinted a football field. “I can’t believe you just let me do that.”
I patted his chest. “It was hot, trust me.”
“I think I owe you at least a dozen orgasms.”
I laughed. “I’ll accept that. But it was hot.”
“Hold on, just…just hold on. Let me catch my breath, and then I’ll clean you up and start paying you back.”
I raked a gentle scratching touch over his belly. “Later. I’ll just jump in the shower.”
I didn’t give him a chance to argue, I just slid out of bed, away from him, away from that mouth of his. I relished what it could do between my thighs, but I feared what it could do between my ears, my heart—such as it existed, at least.
I closed my bathroom door and twisted on the shower water. Regarded myself in the mirror. Cum dribbled down my chin, smeared across the valley between my breasts and trickling down between them, coated my nipples in a thick sticky white glaze. All over me. I tasted it. Felt him all over me.
I wasn’t about to tell him this, but in all my sexcapades in Europe and since, I’d never let anyone do that to me. BJs, handjobs, crazy sex in weird and wild places—everything I’d shared with my girls was true, and then some I’d never dared tell even them. But this? This was new. Unique to Titus.
And it had felt like crossing a line.
I didn’t regret it—it had been hot. Sexy as fuck, and I’d do it again. But the reason I’d done it… that was the line I’d crossed. The act itself was not something I was or would ever be ashamed of. I’d done it because I wanted to, of my own volition, and not due to any pressure from him. If anything, I’d drawn him into it. But I’d done so to avoid letting our interaction turn any more personal.