by Sierra Hill
Sutton clamps down and sucks. Holy fuck, it’s the sexiest, dirtiest thing I’ve ever seen. The only sight that might be better is if she were on her knees with my cock in her mouth instead.
“You’re a naughty little girl hiding beneath this sweet exterior, aren’t you, Button?” I tease, pulling my now clean finger out of her mouth and grabbing the condom from the bed.
Fully wrapped and covered, I take my cock in hand, stepping once again behind her. I press her down, so her head lands against the soft mattress, and guide the tip of my cock to her entrance.
I hiss through clenched teeth as a primal, base level instinct explodes within me. Nudging at her opening, I feel the pliant give of her pussy and thrust in with one hard push.
We groan in unison, the tightness of her inner muscles adjusting and squeezing, creating dizzying effects that have me already seeing stars in my vision.
“Fuck, Button. Do you feel that?”
I’m not exactly sure what “that” is I’m referring to, whether it’s strictly the physical feeling of being joined as one, or the deeper connection that’s been buzzing around us for weeks. A sense of nostalgia of the past and a clear direction of the future.
I mindlessly move my body, thrusting in and pulling out, the slide of my dick through her deliciously wet folds inciting the provocative sounds of skin slapping skin. The bed moving underneath our weight and the rhythm of the rocking, the pattern of our fucking.
It’s almost too much.
I want to be tender and gentle but tear into her until she’s quaking so fiercely, she can’t stay upright. I want to probe her in places no one has ever touched and be the first man to make her scream in triumph after eliciting more orgasms out of her than anyone else before me.
My intentions are pure, but my desire pure filth.
I want to satiate my thirst with her and scheme to find other dirty means of getting us both off.
I want her bones to be liquid when I’m through with her, as she collapses on the bed filled with my sweat and my cum, satisfied knowing it was me who did it to her.
Pulling out, I flip her over onto her back, scooting her forward on the mattress as I slide back on top of her, sinking in deep once again. This time, I watch her lips part with an O.
My release climbs rapidly, until my hands are white-knuckled, one placed over her head and the other at her hip. Lifting myself over her, I watch her tits bounce every time I slam in and pull back out. And with each punch of my hips, she lets out a sexy gasp of pleasure.
“I want you to come again, Button. I want to watch you come apart and feel you spasm around my cock.”
She hums in agreement, eyes closing on their own accord at the sheer overwhelming sensations. I feel it too. And it’s so fucking good.
Sutton wraps her legs around my hips, digging her heels into my backside, her fingers clawing at my shoulder blades.
“That’s it, Button. Get there, baby.”
She keens and thrashes her head back and forth, lips parted and swollen from my kisses.
I feel my orgasm barreling, starting at the base of my spine, my balls tightening with my release, just as I see a wave of pleasure form over Sutton’s face, and her legs tighten around me.
“Miles,” she screams, as I throw my head back and roar out my orgasm, spilling everything inside her and coming hard and long.
Releasing it all into Sutton with urgency and shameless, shattering relief.
28
Sutton
Waking to the warmth of Miles’s arms wrapped around me, his spicy, musky scent lingering over my body like a salty ocean breeze, is a feeling I couldn’t even describe if you paid me.
And leaving this spot of perfect contentment is definitely not on my list of things I want to do. But I have to get back next door to take care of Blackie.
Detangling myself from his cocoon of warmth while trying not to wake him is a task only Ethan in Mission: Impossible could conquer, especially at this early morning hour. Finally extracting myself from the sheets, I roll over to the side of the bed, ready to stand up when a hand clasps around my wrist, tugging me back, my breath hitching out in surprise.
“Just where do you think you’re sneaking off to this morning?”
I give him a sidelong glance to see that smile playing across his lips before his mouth attaches to my exposed arm, kissing a light, tantalizing trail of kisses down to my elbow. I then find myself flipped on my back, facing the ceiling through some ninja move as he begins lazily sucking on a nipple between his teeth. I try to suppress the tremor that runs through me, but my defenses are useless against his sexual warfare.
The things he did last night to me—hallelujah, praise Jesus—were meant to bring a woman to her knees and wave a white flag of surrender.
The scrape of his beard tickles my sensitive flesh, flashing a lightning-fast arousal between my legs, which open to him on their own accord.
“Miles, I have to go,” I say half-heartedly, offering up a paltry attempt to escape while I thread my fingers through his messy bedhead hair and whimper. “Blackie needs me.”
He peers up at me, one thick brow quirked, his blue eyes the color of the ocean this morning.
“I need you, Button. One more time before I let you out of my bed.”
How the heck do I resist when Miles scoots down my already flushed body, his lips working their way past my ignored protests until he reaches my core. His hands coast over the curves of my body, finally taking up residence between my thighs, his fingertips curling around the meaty flesh, parting me wide. Something hot and tight clenches low in my belly the minute he licks a swath over my belly button, tracing an invisible line down to my clit.
With the first flick of his tongue over my swollen nub, I know it’s useless, and I writhe under his focused ministrations in defeat.
His fingers part my folds, and the tip of his tongue breeches my entrance, slipping inside with devastating skill and practice.
His skillful talents render me speechless, murmuring only unintelligible words or lusty moans with every lash of his tongue or slide of his fingers.
While my sexual experience is limited to three men, one of which was a fairly drunken and fumbling hookup in the bathroom of a fraternity house my sophomore year in college, it goes without saying that Miles has far more expertise in this area.
Especially given how easily he can turn me into a limp and completely biddable bed partner.
Miles’s head pops up, his eyes scanning my face. “Don’t tell me you’re still worried about the dog. He’s fine, Button. We let him out late last night, he’s fine for a little while longer.”
I prop myself up on my elbows and stare down at Miles over my breasts tinged pink from the scrape of his stubble, his gorgeous body splayed out between my legs. His own legs dangle off the end of the bed, the perfect bubble of his butt visible from my vantage point.
My God, this all feels so surreal. An unbelievable twist of fate that normally would have only been in my dreams.
“I’m not worried. I’m perfectly happy.”
He swipes the back of his hand over his wet mouth, covered in my essence, and he grins.
“Glad to hear it. Let’s see if I can extend that happiness a bit further, shall we?”
And then he returns his face between my legs and continues to do just that.
Making me a very happy and satisfied woman, one orgasm at a time.
“Hey, I have an idea if you’re open to it,” Miles says from beside me in the kitchen where we finish cleaning up the breakfast dishes, bellies full and Blackie’s needs attended to after that amazing round of morning sex.
I reach up, standing on my tiptoes to return a plate into the cupboard and feel the curl of his hands as they circle around my waist, hoisting me up and then setting me back down. I peer over my shoulder at him, my eyes lighting with piqued interest.
“What idea is that?”
Miles spins me around to face him, returning his palms to m
y lower back, just above the curve of my ass and tugs me in close. I crane my neck back to look into his face, seeing a new, unexpected expression.
The affection in his eyes projects contentment, which is the first time I’ve seen it since our reunion. It gives me pause, thrilled to know that I might be the reason for that, but also curious whether it’s the aftereffect of sex hormones.
“I know you have to work for a few hours today to open the shop, but maybe afterward, we can pick up lunch and head back home to see Granny.”
The shock on my face is probably evident, my eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Really?” I can’t contain the smile that erupts on my lips as I throw my arms around Miles and jump up and down like a kid on Christmas. “That would make me so happy to see her. It’s been so long. . . since–” I stop abruptly, noticing the dimming of Miles’s eyes that grow dark with grief, shaded by loss.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Miles. I know it’s uncomfortable for you to talk about Melodie’s funeral.”
He closes his eyes, agony etched over his brow line, and a prolonged silence falls over us. Melodie’s life and death have seemed to be an off-limit topic in conversing with Miles, so I’ve treaded carefully, avoiding that landmine and staying on relatively safer subjects.
But I walked right into this one when he mentioned his grandmother. A woman I knew and loved as a kid, and the woman who raised Miles and Mel after their mother died.
The shutters seem to lift as Miles opens his eyes, and his compressed lips part slightly, signifying his resolve.
He strokes my jawline with a soft brush of his thumb, as if memorizing the structure of my face and the pattern of my skin.
“It’s fine, Button. It’s still hard for me to discuss Mel’s death or even think about it. But I don’t want you to walk on eggshells, either. I think it would be fun for us to go back home, hang out with Granny for a bit, and do something fun in our hometown. When was the last time you were home?”
His question hits me with a measure of guilt, and my shoulders fall. “I went home to see my parents right after school ended in May. I’ve been so busy since then, and this dog sitting job came out of the blue. I haven’t been home again this summer.”
He pops my nose with his index finger and nods. “Okay then. We’ll kill two birds with one stone this weekend. Let’s plan on leaving the city by three. I’ll get a car and pick you up at your shop, and then we can make it in time to have dinner with Granny.”
“That sounds like a perfect plan.”
29
Miles
I rent a car from a local shop and pick up Sutton in front of the boutique in SoHo before we get out on the open road.
Once you navigate through the chaotic and slow city traffic and make it out of town, the drive back home to Mystic isn’t too bad of a journey. The further and further we get out of city limits, the less traffic we find on the road.
The satellite radio station plays some music we’re not really paying any attention to. Blackie is sleeping in the back seat on his blanket. Sutton and I chat comfortably together, an easy conversation that is both fun and enlightening. We’re playing a little game called Truth or Dare. Although, the dares are limited to what can be done in the car.
It’s her turn to ask a question. She thinks about it briefly and then snaps her fingers.
“I know,” she enthuses. “Have you ever been given road head?”
I nearly swerve off the road, my head snapping to hers to see her naughty smile and tongue sweeping over her front teeth.
I answer truthfully. “No, not while driving. In a car, yes.”
There’s a slight pause, and I realize she’s waiting for me to ask in return.
“Truth or dare. Have you ever given road head, Sutton?”
That’s all it takes for the interior of the car to heat up, and I reach over to lower the car’s temperature. I take a moment to glance at her, as she leans over the console, her hand landing in my lap.
My foot jerks down slightly with a punch to the gas, and she giggles.
“Miles, do I make you nervous?”
I clear my throat. “Answer the question. Truth or dare?”
I glance down to see her hand grazing up my thigh, toward the bulge that has already formed between my legs, my hard on turning impossibly uncomfortable.
“Dare me, Miles.”
“Fuck,” I groan through gritted teeth. “You’re killing me here, Button.”
Her nimble fingers get to my pants, unsnapping and then unzipping them, the sound of the zipper marking a momentous moment.
She slips her hand down my shorts and pulls my throbbing cock out, unable to expose the entire root due to space constraints. Glancing down at my lap, I can see her hand clasped tightly at the base, nudging the material out of the way, and pre-cum glistening over the tip.
And then she goes in for the kill, working to shift her body through the restraints of the safety belt.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she says and leans over so her mouth covers my cock.
I groan, dropping my hand to the top of her head, her hair fanning out to cover her face. I sweep it back in my fist, mostly so I can watch myself fuck her mouth.
She wraps her lips around me and twirls the tip of her tongue over the head, and just that bit of warmth has me nearly losing it right there. I grit my teeth in agony, or painful pleasure, working to stave off an orgasm that I’m seconds away from having.
“That’s right, baby. Take all of me, Button. Swallow me down.”
I can’t help talking dirty to Sutton. She seems to love it and moans around my cock as I swell even further in her mouth.
She flattens her tongue, licking and swirling the turgid flesh of my erection before she sucks me back down. Each time I hit the back of her throat, my hips punching upwards, she chokes and gags a little, and I get impossibly harder. But I wouldn’t have her stop for anything.
How I’m able to keep my attention on the road is beyond me. But it’s not even a minute later, when my clasp on her hair tightens, and the pleasure crashes over me, my release shooting hot and hard inside her mouth.
She swipes her hand across her mouth after she pulls off, and I just stare at her in disbelief, still panting from my climax.
I tuck myself back inside my pants, feeling the post-orgasm satisfaction sweep over me. Sutton adjusts herself back in her seat, smiling proudly when she says, “There. Now I can say I’ve given road head.”
We continue traveling north east along Interstate 95, through smaller, privileged commuter towns like Darien and Stamford, until we pass New Haven, the home of my alma mater, Yale University.
As we do, Sutton asks, “Do you remember the time when Mel and I snuck out and showed up unannounced on campus?”
Our hands are clasped together over the center console and I bring her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, recalling the exact memory she’s referring to.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I had no idea what I was going to do with two fifteen-year-old girls in my dorm room for the night. I was so pissed at Mel that weekend. She was such a handful.”
A heavy silence falls over us as I remember bits and pieces of that weekend years before. Mel had always had a stubborn streak, made worse after our mother’s death and all the changes that occurred as she hit puberty. It was during that time when I left for school an hour away, turning my back on my younger sister who needed guidance and structure, love, and protection.
Sutton gives my hand a shake, pulling me out of my reverie. “Hey, you okay? Is it okay to talk about this?”
I smile tightly. “Of course. Thank God for you, Button, because at least you tried steering Mel in the right direction.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sutton’s head turn to stare out the window, watching groves of trees, lampposts and mile marker signs whiz by along the highway.
“I didn’t do a very good job of it.”
Tugging her hand so sh
e snaps toward me, I give her a curt head shake. “We are not doing this today. We are not feeling sorry for ourselves. We already talked through this, and you have nothing to be ashamed about. Mel had issues. Deep, hurting pain that she chose to deal with in her own headstrong way. Honestly, I noticed it that weekend but chose to ignore it, unable as a twenty-one-year-old to manage my own teenage sister. I thought she was just acting out and being a brat full of rebellious teen angst. But you, Button. You were the angel on her shoulder.”
Sutton gives me a half-hearted smile and then, as if shaking off the melancholy, pipes up with her own memory.
“That weekend was the first time I’d ever gotten drunk.”
“Glad to know I was such a good influence,” I snort. “I do remember you puking your guts out in my toilet that night.”
And then a look of horror strikes across her face, her hand flying to her lips to cover her open mouth.
“Oh my God, I think I told you my secret that night. Do you remember?”
Chuckling, because I do vaguely recall her spilling the beans, I shrug innocently. “I’ll never tell.”
She bats at my chest, and I duck out of her way, laughing with mirth but grab her hand and hold it in my grasp once again.
“I think you may have mentioned you’d never been kissed by a boy, and you’d wanted me to kiss you.”
Sutton’s head hangs down between her shoulders like a sad puppy. “Oh shit. I’m always humiliating myself with you.”
Nudging her with my elbow, I ask the obvious question, “How did you remedy that problem and get your first kiss?”
Sutton pinches her lips together as if debating whether to share it with me. I nudge her again. “I’ll tickle it out of you if I have to.”
I get the feeling it’s another embarrassing truth, but it’s common for first kisses to be awkward and uncomfortable. Especially when it happens between two kids, both uncertain what to do or how to do it.
