Page 13 of The Naughty List
And when she runs her tongue along the length, I stop breathing.
“Oh, fuck, Audrey,” I whisper so low only she can hear.
Her tongue circles the head, letting her saliva drip down and coating my dick in warmth. Then, her perfect red lips kiss the top before opening to take in the whole thing. I swear I see fucking stars. My breath comes out in short, stuttering exhales when I feel the softness of her tongue caress the head.
I haven’t had a blow job since I was married, and even then, it was probably a year before the divorce. They sure as hell weren’t like this. My ex treated it like a chore, and I never got off. She just looked too miserable.
But Audrey takes her time, staring up at me like she wants to take every inch—like she’s worshipping my cock. I beg my brain to memorize everything about this moment. How warm and wet her mouth is, the fear that someone could catch us, fuck, even the goddamn Christmas song playing on her speaker.
Audrey works my length, holding the base and squeezing her lips around me as she slides up and down. When she cups my balls, massaging them between her fingers, I know I’m done.
“Audrey, I’m—fuck,” I stutter quietly. Everything tightens, and I try to pull her off, ready to catch it in my hand if I have to, but she swats my hand away and sucks so hard on my cock that I have to bite down on my knuckle to keep from yelling.
My load shoots straight down the back of her throat, but she keeps working me until she’s swallowed down every drop.
Holy fucking night, indeed.
I stroke her hair and quickly pull her up to kiss her mouth, tasting the saltiness on her tongue. Audrey has a dirty side, that’s for fucking sure, and I want to explore it. I want to do every dirty, kinky, crazy fucking thing she wants to do.
Right now I would very much like to toss her on this bed and eat her pussy until she screams, but I need to get out of her room before people start to suspect something.
“You are so fucking amazing,” I whisper into her mouth.
Her lips stretch into a smile, but I don’t stop kissing her.
“We’re supposed to go to Midnight Mass,” she says. “What if I stay back with you?”
My heart soars and I can practically hear my own heartbeat. “Wherever you go, I go.”
After kissing her one more time, I zip myself up and stand. She makes sure the hallway is clear before I sneak over to the bathroom, like I was in there the whole time.
When I look at the man in the mirror, I don’t feel ashamed that a nineteen-year-old just gave me the best blow job of my life because I know it’s more than that. I know the smile on my face is there because I feel a lot of very intense things that are about more than orgasms and blow jobs.
I think I’m falling in love with this girl. In just two days, she’s brought out a side of me I forgot existed. I want to be spontaneous, romantic...happy. I want to be fucking happy, and I can’t remember the last time I thought that. I want to buy her things, surprise her with gifts, hold her hand while I drive, curl up with her at night. This is dangerous shit, but I don’t care.
One more day with Audrey, and I know I will be in love.
5
Audrey
I don’t want to go back to Northwestern. It was such an easy decision to make once Grant made me admit to myself how talented I am and how much I've been denying myself that confidence. Once he made me say it, I could finally see how badly I wanted it.
The only problem is that if I don’t go back to college, then I have to stay here. And if I stay here, then it will be a lot harder to see Grant. Maybe he’ll decide to stay somewhere in town. I can go to art classes at the community college and see him when I can.
Still, this plan feels wrong. Like I’m still holding back. But I don’t know how.
At dinner, my mother seems almost pleased with me. She’s actually smiling at me and not talking about me like I'm not there. She’s not going to be so happy when I tell her what I’m thinking.
Grant sits across from me, and every few moments I feel his shoe lean against mine. Our eyes meet over the table, and I lick my lips in a way that only he would catch. A subtle reminder of what we just did.
After dinner, we all get ready for Christmas Eve service, the one time a year we actually go to church. But I can’t focus. I feel like time is slipping away and the time I have left with Grant isn’t enough. I wish we had more time to build on whatever this is. To figure out if what we’re feeling is real or just physical.
Every fiber of my being knows it’s real. It feels real, but what if I’m being too rash or emotional? How does he feel about me? We’ve had so little time to just talk, the two of us.
When we arrive at the church, my mother pulls me by the hand to sit by her. I notice how Roger jerks his head toward Grant to direct him to sit with him. I’m one end of the pew and he’s on the other. My stomach sours, and I don’t know why. It’s like I’m having physical reactions to the way my heart feels right now. Is this even possible?
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with Roger all weekend,” my mother whispers. When I glance at her, she’s staring down at her program. “I feel like I’ve hardly spent any time with you.”