Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters 2) - Page 29

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Since I’m only a man, I reach out and brush her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear so I can watch. Rose sends me a knowing smile before she darts out her tongue and traces just the head of my cock, circling it, flicking at the flared ridge.

Driving me out of my fucking mind.

She’s putting on a show just for me and I’m her captive audience. I can’t tear my gaze away as she strokes and licks, alternating between the two, teasing me with those glossy pink lips and that talented long tongue. Until finally, finally she purses her perfect lips at the tip, drawing my cock into her mouth deep. Deeper. She closes her eyes and relaxes her throat, taking me just about as far as I can get, and the guttural groan that rips from inside me expresses my pleasure at what she’s doing more than anything else I could say or do.

Holy hell, her mouth is like magic. I brace myself, tensing my muscles so I don’t collapse as I slowly start to move my hips, adjusting my grip on her hair so I’m holding it like a ponytail away from her face. She bobs on my cock, up and down, in and out of the warm cavern of her mouth, and when she lifts her honeyed gaze to mine, I’m fucking lost.

The orgasm barrels down upon me like a damn freight train. Like every cliché you’ve ever heard describing an orgasm, that’s what I’m feeling. The wave. The warmth, the tingling at my spine, the heat in my balls, the tightening of my sac. I’ve got it all going on and then some and I fuck her mouth, thrusting hard and deep, the vibrations of her moan making my entire body shiver and shake.

“I’m gonna come,” I tell her through gritted teeth, wanting to give her the warning in plenty of time, in case she wants to pull away. Girls don’t usually want to swallow. I get it. I’ve never particularly gotten off on it, either. I’m more of a visual type, so I prefer …

I tear my cock out of her mouth, a reluctant gesture that has her pouting at me. “I wanted to swallow,” she says, and a fresh wave of arousal takes over me at her words.

This girl is a constant surprise. She goes against every stereotype I’ve projected upon her and I love it.

“I want to see it,” I tell her as I wrap my fingers around my cock and start to stroke. She watches in fascination as I increase my pace, my blood rushing, my ears roaring. “Part your lips, baby.”

She does as I say and I lean toward her, my cock practically touching her mouth. That’s all it takes. With an agonized groan I’m coming, spurting semen onto her lips, little drops of white even hitting her tongue.

It’s the hottest thing I think I’ve ever witnessed.

Rose remains in place until the very last drop is squeezed out of my dick and I slump against the wall, panting for breath like I’ve run fifty miles, my skin covered in sweat, my eyes closing for only a brief moment because I don’t want to miss a thing. Even after that major orgasm, my cock is still semi-hard and I know it won’t be a problem getting it up so I can actually fuck her.

And I definitely plan on fucking her.

Opening my eyes, I watch in disbelief as Rose licks and then smacks her lips together, like she just indulged in the tastiest treat ever. She glances down, sees the splatter of come on her tits, and wipes it away with her fingertips just before she sinks them into her mouth.

“Jesus,” I mutter, making her laugh.

“Are we even, then?” she asks huskily after she removes her fingers from her swollen mouth.

“I didn’t realize this was a contest.” I watch as she gets to her feet and walks away, heading toward the bathroom. The sway of her hips, that beautiful ass—I can’t stop staring. She doesn’t shut the bathroom door, just yanks a tissue out of the box near the sink and dabs at her chest, cleaning up the mess I made.

The possessive surge that moves through me is foreign. I don’t think of women as mine. I definitely don’t take pride in marking them with my come like some sort of rutting animal. So what the hell?

“It isn’t a contest.” She exits the bathroom, coming to stand before me, gorgeous in her nude state. Her breasts sway when she walks, the nipples hard and this delicious rosy pink that makes my mouth water. She’s not shy, not hiding or worried about imperfections or weight or whatever else women tend to freak out over. Her confidence is sexy.

“Then why did you ask if we’re even?”

“Because I never want to owe you a thing, Caden.” She brings herself closer to me, my erect cock rising between us as she rests her hands on my shoulders. “We need to be equals in this … whatever it is we’re doing.” She runs her hands down my chest, her gentle touch sending a wave of gooseflesh over my skin, and the shudder that escapes me can’t be contained.

I couldn’t agree more with what she says. Reaching out, I thread my fingers in her hair, give it a tug, and pull her in. “You need a definition?” It’s best we don’t. I’ve never defined any of my so-called relationships. It’s easier that way.

Easier for me to walk away. And I’m going to walk away from Rose. I have to.

She slowly shakes her head, my grip on her hair not lessening, the intensity of her stare not lessening, either. Our breaths are rapid; my heart beats wildly and I’m guessing hers does too. “I don’t like you,” she murmurs. “You drive me crazy.”

The chuckle that escapes can’t be helped. I’ve never been told by a woman that she doesn’t like me while we’re standing together naked, so this is a first. “You drive me crazy, too,” I answer, not bothering to confirm whether I like her or not.

Tags: Monica Murphy The Fowler Sisters Romance