“Mmm-hmm...” She hummed, eyes wide as she nodded up at him. Her fingers worked in a furious circle against her own clit. She was on the edge.
And she did want to swallow him up whole. Take every last drop.
Carter’s stomach muscles contracted and he let out sharp puffs of air. Without thinking, she grasped the base of his cock again with her free hand, holding it steady so she could continue to work him as his culmination neared.
“I’m coming...oh god...” The veins in his neck bulged, his words were disjointed.
Perdie held on for dear life as his hips jolted and then the hot jet of semen pumped out of him and down her throat. It was frantic, messy, and hot. She moaned as she swallowed, lurching on her knees as her own orgasm jerked and twitched through her body like little electric pulses.
When it was over, she let him fall from her mouth, her whole body slumping over on the floor, then falling flat like a starfish. Totally spent, washed up to shore.
He yanked up his pants, tucking his wet cock beneath the elastic with a wince and then slid down the wall until he was sitting, knees drawn. “What the...what the fuck was...” He panted.
She let out a strangled laugh. “That was my holiday spirit, I think.”
With some effort, she dragged herself to her elbows and crawled over to sit next to him, rubbing her mouth with the bottom of her shirt. His head flopped, eyes still glassy. A lock of hair fell to his eyebrow, which Perdie toyed with between her index finger and thumb before smoothing it over with the rest of his hair. His lids drooped from the simple caress.
“You’re a multi-talented woman...” he murmured.
“Hey, Carter.”
“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse.
She was searching that little quarter of blue in his eye now, that little cerulean patch that stood out from the rest of the hazelly green. Damn. He seemed vulnerable after what she’d done to him. Another surge of possessiveness shot through her. She cleared her throat. “What’s your favorite color?”
Warmth crossed his features as a slow smile spread over his face. “I like them all.”
“But if you had to pick one.”
“If I had to pick one...” His finger flicked up the hem of her shirt, pinning it at her sternum, and he ducked down, drawing the tip of her breast in for a quick suck. “I’d pick the pink color of your nipples.”
“Hey. I’m serious.” She pushed his head away, yanking the oversized sweater down to her thighs. “Try again.”
His eyes glimmered as he settled back against the wall. “You want my second-favorite color then? Maybe a different shade of pink somewhere else on your body. Fine, fine. Blue. Like the blue in my eyes that you love staring at so much.”
“It’s hypnotizing. I can’t look away.”
He laced his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand. “My birth mother has hazel eyes. But my other mother, the judge, she’s the one with the blue. And that little spot is all her even though we don’t share genetics. I like to think she argued her way into my biological makeup anyway. Wanting to make her proverbial and literal mark.”
She elbowed him gently. “You’re a momma’s boy.”
“Twice over.” With her hand in his grasp, he pulled her in against his chest, their stretched-out legs now intertwined. She scraped her big toe over the arch of his foot, fascinated by all of the close-up details of his body she was privy to.
“Ask more,” he said, smashing his face against her hair, the heat of his breath sweeping a prickle down the curve of her neck.
“Okay, Pretty Boy. How’d you get to be so successful?”
“Oh, come on. That’s a boring one.” He shrugged, pulling away so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Luck. Environment. Genetics. Privilege of all kinds.”
“Well, the pretty privilege is certainly a factor. Everyone likes you. And everyone likes to look at you. How many questions do I get? One more?”
“For you? A hundred. A hundred thousand.”
“Hmm. A mere hundred thousand. I better be deliberate, then. You know, when we first met I thought you were some kind of fuckboy.”
He turned his head towards her, eyebrows raised. “So I gathered. But no longer?”
“The way you’re open with your feelings...it feels like a ploy. It’s freakish. But now I’ve come around on the idea that it’s—gasp—authentic.”
“It’s freakish to say how you feel?”
She nodded. “Radical even. Didn’t you ever learn how to hide your feelings to fit in? Didn’t anyone ever...like...make fun of you growing up for being too vulnerable?”
He scratched his head. “Not really.”
“Not even an awkward phase?”
Carter laughed. “You’ll roll your eyes at this, but I modeled as a kid. Catalogue stuff, did a few commercials and whatever. But no one ever bullied me for it. By the time I hit my teens, I was more interested in surfing and getting into an Ivy League.”
“Oh yeah, you’re so lucky no one ever bullied you for modeling. Surfing. And Ivy League dreams.” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing my mother lost all my childhood pictures in a flood five years ago.”
“That’s...incredibly sad.”
Perdie shrugged. “To you, maybe. I’m not sentimental. Some pictures are best kept locked away in your gray matter.”
“But your entire childhood?”
“I was a miserable kid. Teeth all crooked, chubby. Disagreeable...always getting in trouble for mouthing off to some kind of authority figure. My mother wasn’t the most present person in the world. Well, an understatement. There were rare times when she could be like a best friend or a cool big sister. Ice cream for breakfast, liquor when I was a teen, that kind of shit. Let me run free practically. But a lot of the time she was checked out. Or drunk. Or both. She wasn’t really committed to anything, including me. I don’t blame her for it, I guess. Immature parenting, you might call it. I think I read that in a book once.” Perdie smirked. “Therefore...ergo...henceforth...some things are safer left in the vault...”
