Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
His fingers are fisting my hair. I have two handfuls of his ass, and I can gladly keep going. But getting him off fast is like a hit of dopamine.
I swallow. Obsessed with the taste of him. I don’t let him catch his breath for long. Right when I stand back up, I put my hand on his head and shove him down.
He seems okay with the force, but I push his hair out of his face and ask, “You good?”
Tom is blinking hard a few times like maybe he saw stars. His “yeah” is too much of a whisper.
“You need a minute?” Yeah, I’m going to give him a minute.
Even if he’s shaking his head. His grip tightens on the back of my thigh, and I don’t rush him while he’s capturing more air in his lungs.
A strangely quiet moment passes where the only sound is our slowing breaths.
He’s knelt at my feet on the shower tile. I brush my thumb over his cheekbone, and he looks up at me from beneath his lashes with a vulnerability I want to cradle and protect. Because I’ve never seen Tom look at another person like he’s looking at me. It’s as if he’s shed every single layer of defense. He’s completely bare.
Something tender and intimate pierces the air around us. “Cobalts don’t kneel, huh?” I whisper.
Tom begins to smile. “I was speaking metaphors.”
I nod. “Well, you literally look good down there.”
“Yeah, I know.” His grin emerges, and I clench my jaw as my lips do a weird twitchy thing.
After I run my fingers through his hair a couple times, I ask, “You ready?”
“I’ve been ready, dude. Waiting on you.”
We can blame the rest break on me. I couldn’t fucking care less. His knees are spread open, and that visual alone is killing me. Then he runs his tongue over the swollen head of my cock and down my length. A shockwave ripples up my legs. Fuck. Dots dance in my vision.
“Tom,” I moan. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Fuck.” A rougher groan escapes the depth of my chest, especially as he squeezes my balls. My muscles tighten, and I narrow my eyes at his curving smile. “Open.” I clasp his jaw with one hand and brace my flexed forearm against the tile wall with the other.
“What happens if I don’t?” he pants.
“Then I come on your face, nepo baby.”
He considers. Jesus Christ.
I grip my rock-hard shaft, and I begin stroking myself while he takes his time thinking. He holds his own thighs, just watching me masturbate right before his eyes. Literally in line with his face. I notice him getting hard again. Yeah, fuck. I need him. I need him. I need him.
“Open,” I beg, my muscles straining with climbing pleasure. “Tom.” My groans sound like I’m dehydrated in the desert and he’s the only source of water I’m thirsting for. “Open your fucking mouth, man.”
His eyes glitter at my tortured command. He’s consuming the length of my flexed body. He’s loving this. Loving how much I need to be inside him in any capacity.
I hold my palm under his lips, and he spits in my hand. Then I rub my shaft two more times. I only take my forearm off the wall to push his hair out of his face.
Tom is so into this moment. It’s driving me fucking feral. I can’t gather enough air in my lungs as I stare into his sparkling blue eyes. Everything feels so heady.
I grab the back of his skull with a strong grip. I’m tugging and stroking harder, faster. And then his lips part for me.
Fuck. Yes.
I guide myself in his mouth. He doesn’t have time to bob against me. I thrust my hips back and forth, fucking him how I warned, and I end up holding his face with two hands. “Oh my God,” I grit out between my teeth. “Tom.” My muscles scorch.
I watch him fist himself at the same time. Then I glance at my cock sliding between his lips. Our eyes slam together with the force of a kick drum.
“Fuck,” I moan into a heavy grunt, coming with a hard spasm forward. I can immediately tell he can’t take it. So I pull out so fast. Tom almost chokes.
He’s coughing and spitting into the shower drain. Shit. I squat and put a hand to his back. “You okay? Tom?”
He spits harsher.
Damn. I rub between his shoulder blades.
Tom is knelt on one knee, and he presses his forehead to the one that’s bent. “Don’t laugh.”
My eyes darken on him. “You serious?”
He says nothing. Which is a resounding yes. I pinch his chin, turning his face so he sees my confusion. “Why the fuck would I laugh at you?”
He takes a slow breath. “You’re right, it’s not funny. It’s only the saddest thing in the world that you can swallow, but I can’t.”