Well Hung

by Lauren Blakely

  “Fuck yeah,” I grunt, thrusting into her hand, urging her closer.

  She bends down, brushing her tongue over me, then under, licking my balls, swirling her tongue all over them, drawing them into her mouth. Driving me motherfucking crazy. I clasp her head harder. “So fucking good,” I moan.

  She lets go and crawls up me, that flirty, dirty look in her eyes. “Then tell me how much you want all of my mouth.”

  I run my index finger over her naughty lips. “I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so bad.”

  Pleasure shoots through me as she inches down my body, pushing up my shirt so she can kiss my chest, my abs, my waist, then the happy trail, until she’s eye to one-eye with my cock again, where I want her. “Jesus, Nat. You look so good next to my dick.”

  “I do believe your cock and my mouth will get along just fine,” she says with a wink, then she opens wide and draws me all the way in. Holy shit. I’ve never been blown like this before. She’s fierce, and frenzied, and just a hungry, delicious thing, sucking my dick with the most astonishing friction I’ve ever felt. She’s fast, determined, and has a magnificent gag reflex because she takes all of me, and that’s not easy.

  Her lips are wrapped nice and snug around my aching erection. With each swipe of her tongue, each move of her lips, my hips shoot higher, and all I care about is coming and coming hard. She’s got me on the fast track, and considering how goddamn worked up I am for her, it won’t take me long.

  Not with my gorgeous Natalie in control, her wicked mouth sucking my shaft and her talented fingers playing with my balls. She sends me into sensory overload, touching and playing and licking and sucking until everything below the belt lives in the land of intoxicating white-hot pleasure.

  My dick whistles a happy tune, and my balls skip with joy at getting this kind of attention. Threading my hands tighter in her hair, I fuck and fuck and fuck, thrusting hard into her mouth. She gulps and sucks loudly, but doesn’t let up. She takes my dick as deep as she can go, and sorry if that makes me a crass motherfucker, but there is just something about a woman this hell-bent on giving the blow job of my dreams that makes me want her even more.

  And I do. I crave everything about her.

  I want to wake up to this. Find her in the shower, hands on the wall, ready for me. I want to get on my knees for her and go to town on my woman. Feel her dripping all over my face as I eat her, and holy fuck . . . an orgasm charges through me as I imagine getting her off.

  “Gonna come so hard.”

  And then I’m shooting jets into her mouth, and she sucks it down. I pant, and moan, and writhe, and don’t think I’ll ever be sane again.

  But then suddenly I am of sound mind and body, because I know, with perfect clarity, what needs to happen next. “Get on my face, pretty girl,” I say. In seconds, she’s shoved off her karate pants and undies, and she straddles me, lowering herself to my mouth.

  This.

  Her pleasure. Her sweetness. Her intense arousal. With my hands gripping her hips, I move her over my mouth, my tongue, my lips, guiding her as she fucks my face. She covers me, and I swear I’m in another realm. She’s paradise to me with her delicious, wonderful, fantastic pussy that tastes so fucking good parked on my face.

  “Oh God, I’m gonna come on you,” she cries out.

  And with her orgasm alert, she’s there, all wet and hot and wild. Her hands brace on the mat above my head as she rides me into her sweet abandon, fucking my face like it was put on this Earth for her pleasure.

  It didn’t take her long, but that was just enough rest time for round two. After she comes down from her high, I flip her over. She’s the one pinned, and that’s how I want her.

  “Now who’s flat on her back?” I wiggle an eyebrow as I grab her knees, push them up her chest, and slide into her hot, tight pussy.

  “Oh fuck,” she moans, arching her spine as I push deep in her, bracing on my arms, my palms by her shoulders. Like that, I take the reins. She’s been the star of the show, sucking my dick and riding my face, and now I want to be the man on top. Fucking her. Taking her. Having her. Making sure she knows how much pleasure I can bring her.

  As I sink into her hot center, she lifts her hips, rocking her sexy little body up against me.

  “Spread your legs for me,” I tell her. “Nice and wide. I want to watch as I fuck you.”

  With a carnal moan, she opens her thighs even wider for me. I watch where our bodies meet, just fucking stare as my dick fills her. “Look at us,” I say huskily.

  She follows my gaze and trembles as she stares at my cock, gliding in and out of her. “We look hot, Wyatt.”

  I bring my thumb to her swollen clit, rubbing it as she watches me stroke in and out of her pussy. She turns even slicker as she stares. I lower myself, my chest pressed to her beautiful body as I rub her clit. “I can’t stand it,” I grit out. “I can’t fucking stand how much I want you.”

  Then she shudders and digs her nails into my ass. Her head falls back, her neck exposed, and she shatters. She falls apart beneath me, coming and crying out, and shouting, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.”

  An endless series of oh gods rips the air, and I follow her there, chasing my own release, grunting and groaning, and loving how fucking good we are together.

  Then, footsteps sound in the hall, the clack of soles on the floor.

  Natalie’s eyes go wide, and I scramble off her, my dick still hard and covered in us. She pops up, and I’ve never seen someone get dressed as fast as this woman.

  The click of the door unlocking lands in my ears as I yank up my briefs and jeans, then zip them closed. I don’t even have time to button the top button. I just smooth a hand on my T-shirt, crumple over and moan, like Natalie landed one in my ribs.

  “I didn’t know you were going to do the dropkick thing in my stomach,” I mutter as the door opens and a redhead with a short bob walks in.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize you’d still be here, Natalie. How’s it going? I forgot my hairbrush.”

  Hairbrush? You came back for a fucking hairbrush? Learn to work the finger comb, darling.

  “Hello, Mrs. McKeon. I haven’t seen one,” Natalie says, her tone still breathy.

  Mrs. McKeon arches an eyebrow. “Looks like you could use one, though,” the woman says, gesturing to Natalie’s messy hair.

  My heart catches with worry that she’s been busted. This woman let her use the studio, and now she’s going to karate chop Natalie for turning it into a bow-chicka-wow-wow pad. Natalie’s cheeks imitate a beet as she runs her hand through her sex-tousled hair. “Oh, I . . .”

  “She’s a fierce one,” I say, interjecting. “She was whooping me something good with her black belt moves.”

  The redhead crosses her arms. “I can’t wait to see the video series when it’s done, then. What moves did you work on tonight?”

  “Headlocks, mostly,” I say, with a straight face. “Lots and lots of headlocks.”

  28

  Natalie: I can’t keep risking my job like that. My other job. The karate classes.

  Wyatt: I’m sorry, Nat. I feel terrible.

  Natalie: Not your fault.

  Wyatt: All mine. I should have been smarter. Taken you to my home or something.

  Natalie: It’s my fault, too. This may surprise you (not!) but I kinda love the risky sex.

  Wyatt: Shocked. Shocked, I tell you.

  Natalie: With you, I should add. I like it with you. It just does something to me. The danger. The chance of getting caught.

  Wyatt: Um. Yeah! It’s fucking hot.

  Natalie: But it’s so risky.

  Wyatt: Definitely too dangerous . . .

  Natalie: It really is. I know you tried, but when Mrs. McKeon asked me to stay after you left . . . well, let’s just say, I get the impression she’s not too happy with me.

  Wyatt: Ah, shit. Nat. I feel terrible. What can I do to help?

  Natalie: Become ugly. Act like an asshole. Stop being so damn caring.


  Wyatt: Likewise, could you start acting like a cold-hearted bitch who’ll stab me in the back? It’d make it so much easier to keep my hands off you.

  Natalie: If you could get a reversal on your sense of humor so I wouldn’t laugh so much around you, that’d also help.

  Wyatt: While we’re at it, please stop having so damn much in common with me.

  Natalie: And another thing. Maybe you can quit trying to help me succeed at my passion.

  Wyatt: And how about you cut out the crap with making me sandwiches? That was crossing a line.

  Natalie: I’m glad you liked the sandwich :)

  Wyatt: Um, I should confess I gave it to a homeless guy.

  Natalie: That’s so sweet. See? That’s what I mean. You just do these things . . .

  Wyatt: Wait. Before you think I’m sweet, let me be honest. I was afraid you were poisoning me.

  Natalie: SO YOU TRIED TO POISON A HOMELESS PERSON INSTEAD???

  Wyatt: No! I freaked out. My mind went haywire. I told you about my ex, and what she tried to do to my business. Sometimes thinking a woman is out to get me is my default setting. It was stupid and wrong to think that about you, but I did it anyway, imagining you were up to something. I tossed the sandwich, and later I found out a homeless guy had loved it, and well, I felt like a schmuck.

  Natalie: That is a little schmucky.

  Wyatt: A world-class schmuck, I should add. Will you forgive me?

  Natalie: Yes, because you’ve already been punished enough by missing out on my spectacular lunch. I rock in the sandwich department.

  Wyatt: Maybe I can make it up to you with a stir-fry. Or a southwestern shrimp soup. Or this new blackened catfish fajita recipe that’s awesome.

  Natalie: My RSVP to all three is yes. And also, I want you to know . . . I get it. I truly do. We all have fears. You have a fear of being taken. And hey, my last boyfriend was boring, so I have a fear of being bored.

  Wyatt: How’d a woman like you ever wind up with a dull dude? You’re the opposite. You’re the most exciting, interesting, fascinating woman I’ve ever known.

  Natalie: At the time, I thought I needed to be more serious. Less adventuresome.

  Wyatt: Your sense of adventure is one of my favorite things about you, Nat.

  Natalie: Ditto.

  Natalie: Also, I was wrong.

  Wyatt: Wrong? About what? Your sense of adventure?

  Natalie: No. Remember in Vegas when I said there was no such thing as a calorie-free chocolate . . . or a guy who’s funny, well hung, and sweet?

  Wyatt: YOU FOUND CALORIE-FREE CHOCOLATE?? I’m coming over.

  Natalie: I wish!!! But I did come across this guy who’s funny, well hung, and sweet.

  Wyatt: No way. He sounds like a unicorn.

  Natalie: I like unicorns.

  Wyatt: I bet unicorns like you, too. I hear they like adventuresome, sexy, hot, kind, caring, organized, and totally fucking awesome babes.

  Natalie: There’s only one problem with this unicorn.

  Wyatt: What’s that?

  Natalie: He’s my boss.

  Wyatt: Yeah, I find myself in a very similar situation with an employee.

  Natalie: What are we doing, Wyatt?

  Wyatt: I wish I knew, Nat. I wish I knew. All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you, but I don’t want to mess things up for you. At any of your jobs.

  Natalie: That’s the real unicorn. Having it all.

  29

  Charlotte hands me a margarita when I walk into Max’s living room in his pad in Battery Park City.

  “It’s my secret recipe. Made with Gummi Bears,” she says with a big smile.

  I take the glass and down a gulp. It’s cold, delicious, and mildly candy-sweet. “Not very secret since you’ve spilled the beans, now is it?”

  She laughs and pats the cushions, so I take the seat next to her on the huge L-shaped chocolate-brown couch facing the windows. The gang’s all here. Nick is parked in the corner of the sofa, with Harper curled up next to him. Chase is on the other end, and I catch a glimpse of Natalie and Josie in the kitchen with Max. Spencer is by Charlotte’s side, and he raises a glass to me.

  “Glad to hear you won the best-man derby. Just don’t make a move on the bridesmaid,” he jokes, clasping Charlotte’s shoulder.

  I hold up my hand. “No worries there, man. Pretty sure your wife’s not the only bridesmaid who’s off-limits,” I say, since Harper asked Charlotte and Josie to be bridesmaids, as well as a few other friends.

  “Speaking of bridesmaids,” Harper says, stretching across Nick to tap my knee. “My friend Abby knows someone in need of your carpentry services. You remember her? You guys are both encyclopedias of animal facts. I’ll have her reach out to Natalie.”

  “Excellent. Appreciate you spreading the good word for us, especially to someone who can crush it in bar trivia, too,” I say, and Harper laughs. Then I lift my chin toward the view of the tip of Manhattan and mouth nice.

  I haven’t been to Max’s new place, but damn, this pad is first-class. Up here on the twenty-fifth floor, there’s a view of the Statue of Liberty and the Hudson River. Early evening sun shines in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Hey, Max,” I call out, turning my head toward the kitchen. “You building cars for Seinfeld and Leno now or something? This place is out of this world.”

  He strides in from the kitchen with a beer in one hand and a margarita in the other, and laughs in a deep baritone. “I can’t divulge all my celebrity clients.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s privileged information,” Chase says, sketching air quotes.

  “How is business? Good, I trust?” I ask Max.

  He sets down the margarita on a coaster atop a blond wood coffee table that looks to be handcrafted, and takes a swig of his beer. “You know, I really can’t complain.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the understatement of the year,” Chase says, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s killing it.”

  I raise my glass to Max. “To continued good fortune on the business front,” I say, and gesture to the lot of us. Charlotte and Spencer’s bars are bona fide hits, with three thriving locations and a fourth opening soon. Nick just launched a second late-night naughty cartoon on a premium network, and both his shows are rocking in the ratings, while Harper continues to be one of the most popular kids’ magicians in New York. Josie’s a star in the world of flour, and Max is the king of the custom car business in Manhattan, building beautiful, powerful vehicles from the ground up. While Chase is the golden boy, Max is the dark knight, as I like to call him. Dark hair, dark eyes, big build, and he drives a sleek car the color of midnight that would make Batman jealous.

  Max taps his bottle to my glass then nods to his brother. “I’ll drink to that. And to the fact that my little brother is back in town.”

  “Aww, you missed me,” Chase says with a goofy smile.

  Max smacks him on the back. “I just missed the free medical care.”

  “Family,” Chase deadpans. “Can’t live with them, can’t perform a lobotomy on them without permission.”

  “Where’s Mia?” I ask, since their sister is the only who’s not here tonight.

  “Mia had to go out of town on a business trip.” Max points his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I better go check on the chicken.”

  I look at Chase and furrow my brow. Max is not known for his prowess at the stove. “He cooked for you?”

  Chase laughs and shakes his head. “Nope. Josie and Natalie did. Did you know your wife makes the best grilled chicken?”

  All conversation ceases in a heartbeat.

  Spencer straightens. “What?”

  My brother’s jaw drops. “No fucking way.”

  Harper throws a pillow at me. “You didn’t.”

  From the kitchen, Josie shrieks. “When I told you to show her the sights, I didn’t mean the Little White Wedding Chapel.”

  My sister strides across the tiled floor, huffing and p
uffing, her heels clicking purposefully, and shoves me hard on the chest.

  “Ouch.” I crane my neck and meet Natalie’s gaze from the kitchen. “Did I mention my bud has the biggest mouth in Manhattan?”

  Natalie shrugs with a what-can-you-do smile. “Guess that’s why cats have no collarbones. So it’s easier for them to get out of the bag.”

  And for one brief moment, it’s just me and my almost ex-wife, whose sense of humor makes me want to join her in the kitchen, kiss the hell out of her, then help her make the rest of the meal. Hell, I’d happily do dishes with her, too.

  “Is this true?” Josie’s green eyes are wide as she directs her question to Natalie. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Thanks, Chase, for sharing that little tidbit,” I mutter at the same time.

  But before Natalie can answer, Spencer’s laughter booms. “Oh yes. I’ll second that.” He raises his margarita glass. “I can’t thank you enough, Chase. You have just given me fodder for the next several years.” Spencer stares at me with a cat-eating-the-canary smile. “Now, I believe we all want to hear the lovely story of how Wyatt proposed to my wife’s sister.”

  Nick smirks at me and shakes his head. “Dude. I told you Vegas was a recipe for trouble. I knew you were up to something.”

  Josie whacks my elbow. “I asked you if you said something stupid to her in Vegas. I was right.”

  “I said ‘let’s get married.’ Okay? There. Are you all happy?” I gesture to the crew, and all seven of them are having a big fat laugh at my expense.